The Art of Seduction
by Fanfic-Frankie
Summary: Arthur, being a Prince and a prat , has never needed more than a smile to lure volunteers to his bed. Now, however, if he really wants Merlin, he's going to have to listen to everything the two women in his life have to say. Arthur/Merlin.
1. A Dust of Destruction

This is a multi-chapter story, and I am famously bad at them. Or perhaps not famously. Just bad. You have been warned. But, I happen to have some free time on my hands – Don't worry, I'm not a fired city worker, I'm on holiday – so I should have plenty of time to get some more done.

This starts out suprisingly angsty, but I'm not very good at keeping up angst. Warn me if I start getting too humerous. That just wouldn't do.

Oooh, so I haven't done one of these 'summary at the top of a chapter' things so… here goes *deep breath*

Title: The Art of Seduction (As taught by Gwen and Morgana)

Chapter Title: A Dust of Destruction

Rating: T for sexual suggestions and a swear word. May go up. May not. Who can tell (well, I should be able to but, meh)

Summary: Arthur does nothing. More exciting than it sounds. Well, it would have to be, wouldn't it?

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin with a hint of past teenage Arthur/Morgana

Wow, that was less exciting than I expected. Oh well, on with the story!

* * *

The Crown Prince's chambers were eerily quiet, which was odd, because even in a castle things generally only appear eerie in the middle of the night when a storm is raging and someone died an exact number of years ago that night, and certainly do not at three in the afternoon on a Sunday. Blazing sunshine streamed through the windows and in all other parts of the castle the sound of summer revels, may pole dances and market place hubbub could be heard, and all truly seemed right in Camelot. But, eerie it was, and for a good reason. Arthur was in his rooms. Alone. And he was being quiet. More than quiet, totally silent. Nothing stirred in the room, not even the rustling of sheets that was quite a common noise when Arthur was bored and anyone reasonably good looking was around. The silence pervaded the corridor behind it and maids coming to and from other chambers hushed their chatter as they entered the corridor, their glances towards the Prince's door becoming wide eyed and lacking the usual accompanying giggle or flirtatious comment.

The perfunctory guards outside the door, a sensible pair of brothers named Gareth and Gawain, glanced at each other uneasily for the fourth time since their shift had begun, a mere twenty minutes before. They didn't speak, didn't dare to, because they knew that Arthur was doing Nothing. Not the bored, idle adolescent mere nothing, that could be solved with a suggestion of hunting, riding, or a simple conversation. This was Nothing, a nothing that was studious and direct and concentrated. No food had entered the room, and Arthur hadn't left it for hours. Three sets of guards had stood watch and seen nothing, heard nothing and thought about the endless somethings that could follow. Most would have said before that they would enjoy a quiet day guarding a silent inactive prince, but Arthur was his father's son, so each man was paralysed with fear as he stood there, waiting for anything to happen.

But Nothing did. The sun sloped low over the flagstones as this third pair listened intently to the silence. They listened so hard that Morgana had already swept along the passageway and through the doors, opening them herself with a frown before she was noticed, and only Gawain managed a weak, "Greetings M'lady," before the door slammed shut. Neither brother thought about glancing in on the Prince - their curiosity did not outweigh their common sense. They did not know that in this case, the proverbial clam had followed the storm.

Had they seen the sight that met Morgana's eyes they would have known so. The table was overturned and expensive, heady scented wine had spread thinly across the floor, staining everything in its path – the rug, some scraps of parchment and a scarlet scarf. One of the pots that had sat upon the window sill now lay in pieces against the opposite wall. The rug had been kicked up viciously and one leg of a chair had been ripped off and now sat meekly on the seat as an afterthought. Dust, which had clearly been blown around in the disturbance (Morgana suspected it came from under the rug. Merlin was not famed for his thorough cleaning work) had now settled over everything, giving the destroyed room a look of calm. It was not cold, but for a summer;s day it felt wrong, as if all possible heat had been sucked from the place, leaving it devoid of temperature. Its emptiness gave Morgana, a sensitive being, a slight chill in her bones, as if something wrong or deeply distressing had occurred, but she could not fathom or even help it.

In the centre of the room the bed was the only object untouched, excluding the figure that sat upon it aggressively staring at a wall where the tapestry had been half-torn down. Morgana, a sensible girl at the best of times, said nothing. Over the years she had been many things to Arthur; friend, older sister, younger cousin, enemy, crush, dance partner, sparring partner to name a few. On rarer occasions and not since their youth, Morgana had been a mother. Of the two, only she could remember her own, and only she had the natural instinct to mothering. With this knowledge and memory combined, she had sometimes attempted the comforting smiles and brief but powerful words that had ruled the happiest moments he had shared with her own mother.

Still, it had been nearly ten years since Morgana had last turned mother to Arthur. When the Prince had first begun to flirt with her, and she with him, the whole idea had gained an Oedipal element that both were keen to avoid. Now, though, with recent admissions of Arthur's in mind, it seemed safe to try again. With a gentle swish, the Seer settled herself beside her childhood friend and waited, not saying a word. After a brief moment of pause, Arthur's head hi her shoulder and her hand flew to stroke his brow. The murmured words that had accompanied this gesture in those previous times, when Arthur had fallen off his new horse or lost his favourite sword or suddenly remembered his mother was dead and he would be king one day remained unspoken in the room that demanded silence but both could hear them in their minds.

Slowly, ever so slowly, a warmth began to flow back into the room as Morgana listened to Arthur's slow but slightly ragged breaths, the only sign that he might be anything other than unaffected by emotion. Her hand drifted from his head to rest comfortingly on his shoulder and she leaned into him slightly, kindly, but with the air of one who is expecting an answer. Arthur could tell, and had a sneaking suspicion that Morgana would stay with him all night, propriety be damned, if he refused to tell her what was going on. He took a deep breath and utterly failed to begin. Eventually, after screwing up his eyes and making a strange choking noise like a kitten with its first hairball, Arthur managed to sit up and struggle through a word.

"Merlin."

Morgana looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "What did Merlin do? Arthur?"

The Prince tried to avoid her look and glanced down at his boots, but the pull was too much and he found himself locked in a staring match. It had the effect of a truth drug and he found himself speaking again, without ever having decided to. "He… Oh, God… He got so angry, Morgana, he… I…" Arthur disliked being lost for words, but the sheer confusion that faced him was enough to rob him of any eloquence he once possessed.

"Merlin did this?" The incredulity in Morgana's voice made her sound a little like a small dog, and Arthur almost smiled at the idea of Merlin, sweet, good natured Merlin, tipping over tables and smashing vases as he glanced back around the room, his eyes returning to his boots as he spoke again.

"No, I did this. Afterwards. The runt couldn't even lift the table. He was angry though. I've never seen him like that. Not that type, right? I don't understand it."

Sometimes, despite having spent years with the boy-come-man even Morgana couldn't follow the way his mind worked. Arthur had started to tell his stories from the end and work back, often ignoring the middle completely, something he had picked up from Merlin. Morgana couldn't count the number of times the servant had rushed past her squeaking about some plan to save Arthur or Uther (really, their names being so similar was quite confusing in a castle of fast talkers) or the whole of Camelot, and whilst they always made sense in hindsight, they never seemed to at the time. Now she felt the same kind of befuddlement, lie she was being led blind into a room she knew well, but was all changed around, as Arthur spoke. "Wait, what happened? You aren't making any sense. Oh, no. Wait." Realisation dawned on Morgana, and her mouth formed a perfect 'o'. "You didn't – when we were talking this morning – you didn't act upon it, did you?"

The reply when it came was tentative, but tinged with a hint of annoyance, as the blonde prince turned his head back to wards her, his eyes accusing her of what she didn't know. "Yes. Why? Was there something you should have told me?" As usual, it was difficult for the Crown Prince to grasp the fact that anything that had gone wrong might in any way be even partially his fault, and after his conversation with Morgana that morning, she seemed involved enough in the events to deserve some of the blame. Funnily enough, she didn't quite see it that way.

Morgana stood up abruptly and glared down at Arthur. "Me tell you? Have you no common sense. Of course you don't. You just leapt at him? Like that?" A shield that Morgana recognised as belonging to a newly initiated knight, was lying by the bed and the young woman groaned. "Oh, tell me you didn't." Before she spotted that particularly damning piece of evidence, Morgana's sympathy had been with Arthur, since she had known him for years, loved him with every inch of her heart and spoken passionately with him after his epiphany that very morning. Now, however, being a person subject to rather violent changes in humour, she could only think of Merlin, forced to walk in on yet another liaison of Arthur's. Now that she recalled, the knight in question bore a striking similarity to a certain servant, dark haired, pale skinned, with a pleasing smile, and it was just like Arthur to practice on anyone the night before he made his attempt, without considering the consequences. Consequences like said servant being the one to feed and dress and generally attend to both the prince and his one night stand.

"What?" As if to prove her thoughts true the prince looked even more confused and annoyed, but his temper was in check even as Morgana's was flaring. He couldn't comprehend his idiocy as she could. Her fists clenched at her sides as she wondered at the idiocy of men. She was severely tempted to let fly at him, to rant and rave about feelings and truth and thinking about other people, but with Arthur in the mood he was now Morgana knew the best she could expect would be a laugh and a sly comment about emotional women, despite all the emotional turmoil Arthur himself was clearly suffering. Then again, her frustration would hardly make her case appear any more reasonable, even if it was the truth, and a reply like the one she expected would probably push her over the edge into temporary madness. After all the effort she had put in to training Arthur for his own epiphany, it was infuriating to watch him blow his chances so soon afterwards and still not realise why.

Still, let it never be said that a woman is not in control of her emotions. Breathing deeply and trying to make her face as serene as possible without punching the man in front of her, Morgana pulled up the three-legged chair, arranged her self in it and squeezed the broken leg in her hands as a convenient substitute for Arthur's indubitably good looking but empty head.

"Just tell me what happened. Start this morning, before we talked. Somewhere you fucked up, Arthur. Probably more than once." Her accent and demeanour usually made her swearing sound bloody hilarious to Arthur, but he merely glared up at her. She held his gaze for a few seconds, before he gave in, sighed and began.

* * *

I'm debating whether to have the next chapter be one long speech by Arthur, very one-sided and biased etc, or a flashback that shows both sides in third person. You could tell me in a review! Or try telepathy. Reviews are better though! Oh, and Merlin will actually show up this time, in all his glory, as will Gwen.

Thankies!


	2. Red Scarf to A Bull

So, there was much debate about how I should write the next chapter. Or at least, as far as I could tell there was debate amongst the reviewers. Those of you who tried telepathy might have had an overwhelming majority view, but it is now clear I lack any kind of psychic power, so I didn't get your message. So, it is the lovely people who reviewed who had control over what this chapter became. So this chapter is sort of a rough combination of lots of people's views. You'll understand.

Look, it's another summary thing!

Title: The Art of Seduction (As taught by Gwen and Morgana)

Chapter Title: Red Scarf to A Bull

Rating: T for heavier sexual suggestions and again that pesky swear word.

Summary: Arthur tells his side in a few words of few syllables. Are we surprised? More angsting, and Merlin shows up in flashbacks.

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin

* * *

"Just tell me what happened. Start this morning, before we talked. Somewhere you fucked up, Arthur. Probably more than once." Her accent and demeanour usually made her swearing sound bloody hilarious to Arthur, but he merely glared up at her. She held his gaze for a few seconds, before he gave in, sighed and began.

"I woke up at about nine with one hell of a headache for some unknown reason. I wasn't that drunk last night." Morgana's eyebrows quirked, but she said nothing. "Anyway, it's the last time I'm leaving Merlin in charge of watching my drinking. He wasn't in my chambers yet, anyway, so I just lay there, waiting. Then Percival woke up. Very clingy for a knight."

Morgana cast her mind back to the feast the night before, Percival's acceptance feast, and she cursed herself for not keeping a closer eye on Arthur. For weeks she had been pressing hints into Arthur's mind about his servant, having watched her friend's eyes follow the boy for months. Last night, in the drunken, hot air she thought Arthur had finally clicked, finally understood. But no, of course not. A combination of Arthur and alcohol was never going to turn out in the way she had planned, and now she felt guilty not only for Arthur's idiocy, which she clearly had not restrained properly but also for the poor new knight Percival.

The boy was young, a fifth son with stars in his eyes about Camelot and especially for Arthur. Morgana could remember how he had been reluctant to defeat Arthur in the training he admired him so much, how he'd flushed with pride at being knighted and how he'd leaned in to The Prince's touch when Arthur had slung a casual arm around his newest recruit. She knew why Arthur had taken him, even if Arthur still denied it – with his dark hair and wide smile, he was just enough like Merlin to pass, but adoring enough to give in where, from the looks of the room, Merlin had not.

Lost in thought, Morgana almost missed Arthur's words, only to find him still complaining about the innocent Percival and frowned, though this went unnoticed by the oblivious prince. "I was getting a bit, well, uncomfortable – most people know when to leave and when to make shyly lewd suggestions and don't get the two mixed up -when Merlin came in. The clumsy idiot dropped the food, blushed and bent over and I found myself-" Arthur stopped, remembering that he was in more delicate company, and searched for a more appropriate word.

Morgana, who had spent years hearing about Arthur's more unfortunate and inconvenient arousals at various state functions, jousts or even during fights, snorted as she watched the prince's face contort and his mouth silently try out words, each more random than the last. "You found yourself… shall we say hard? Aroused? Turned on? Imagining Mer-"

"Morgana! Shut up!" Blushing seemed to be another of Merlin's habits Arthur had picked up, though they were rarer on the Prince. Still, she couldn't help thinking they rather suited him.

"Yes, ok, whatever you want to call it, that happened," the young man admitted, folding his arms over his chest. "And then the idiot had to bloody try and dress me, so I sent him to show Percival to his actual rooms. I got dressed myself and came to talk to you. After that-"

"Sorry, no skipping. What did we talk about?"

"You know that! You were there."

"Talk me through it all the same."

Arthur thought back. The conversation had been as stilted and awkward as the one he was having now – in fact, that seemed to be a running theme of his conversations with Morgana. Or was it merely those that involved Merlin? "Fine. I came to your chambers and we talked. About Merlin."

"What did you say?"

"I said- I said – Damn it, Morg, you know what I said. I said I wanted Merlin. And now I've gone and said it again. Are you trying to humiliate me?"

Morgana may have only been Uther's ward, but she had picked up the Pendragon temper and it flared within her. Standing, she leaned over Arthur, her wild gestures whacking the hanging curtains and loosening yet more dust, which swirled around her, catching the light and making her looks like some goddess of fury. "No! But if you think it's so humiliating to admit to, we might as well stop here, because you, Arthur, will never get him. You don't deserve him! If you truly believe that than you're more of an arrogant, bigoted prick than your own father!"

The words hung between them like clothes on a washing line, waiting for one of them to take them back or accept them. Once again, Arthur had to concede, breaking the eye contact with a shrug of his shoulders and a turn away. Still the silence remained. Morgana kept her eyes cast down, and was only alerted to Arthur's movement by the slight rustling of sheets. Looking up, she saw him standing at the window, shoulders raised but with his head hanging in something that seemed remarkably like shame. His eyes flitted from one happy reveller to another in the streets below, picking out dark heads and red shirts.

Morgana let out the long breath she had been holding, and broke the silence. "Anyway, you didn't say that." Arthur didn't turn, but the hand on the wall twisted slightly in an offhand gesture as if to say, 'then what?' Morgana took it as a sign to continue, and moved closer, curling her arms around Arthur's waist and resting her head on his shoulder, glad for once that she was unnaturally tall. "You said you wanted Merlin more than you'd ever wanted anyone else. Arthur, you should be proud you admitted that. You wouldn't have before."

A half smile hung on the prince's lips before dissatisfaction rose like a beast in his stomach once more. He raised his arm and gestured to the scene of general destruction that lay behind them both, not wanting to look at it. "And what good does that do me?"

Morgana sighed. "I didn't you were perfect yet. What happened after we talked?"

Arthur moved away from the window and her grip to settle on the bed. He lay back, closed his eyes and tried to force himself to remember the more painful episode of his day. It took him a few moments to begin speaking, but al he continued, Morgana could understand why and resolved to stay quiet. From the look on his face, it was actually hurting the Crown prince to speak, and whilst she sometimes revelled in the prince's more amusing pains, this tugged at the Seer's heartstrings. She couldn't stop him though – what help could she provide if she didn't know the facts of the matter?

"So, you told me to go for it. You know, find out if he felt similarly… inclined, which I thought was ridiculous because, well, I'm me, and who isn't that way inclined. And you said something about subtlety which I probably should have paid attention to, but didn't. I came back here, and sent for him, and some wine and then I waited. Well, he arrived with the wine, which wasn't the best arrangement, but I told him to sit down and I gave him a goblet of wine, and I had one. Two. Maybe three. In quick succession. And he smiled."

"_Arthur?" The wizard's lips quirked upwards and the irrepressible smile broke through. "Wow, you must have been really drunk last night." The Prince's eyes met his and the boy's smile faltered. __"Er, about that, you seemed to be having a lot of fun, something that I think was proved this morning, and so I may have forgotten to make you stop. It all turned out for the best anyway, right? Sir Percival seems nice and – Arthur, why are you looking at me like that?" His forehead crinkled into a frown, but the mouth still stood at the brink of a smile. Merlin cocked his head slightly to one side, and Arthur very nearly imploded, his fingers tightening on his goblet until his knuckles turned white._

"I told him to stand up. And then… I'm not sure how… then, I had him up against a wall and…"

"Oh, Arthur."

"_Ar-Sire? Sire? ARTHUR! Arthur, what-? Arthur, get- stop – get –GET OFF ME!" Arthur saw rather than felt one of his hands, the one not pushing Merlin against the cold stone, wander and explore, tearing off a scarf before going lower. Teeth and lips found only the side of Merlin's head and his neck, but were perfectly content with that. With an adorable weakness, Merlin pushed at Arthur's chest, but found no purchase, no strength. The hand moved, as Arthur watched, down, down, until it reached – __**"GET OFF!"**_

"He pushed me. Half way across the room, onto that chair. It broke. I didn't know he had that kind of strength." Morgana knew enough about Merlin to suspect where that strength had come from. Arthur had rolled onto his side now, away from her, and was speaking into his pillow, but every spoken word was as clear to her as the unspoken ones. She knew Arthur and knew that he would be keeping back the horrible details to fester inside him rather than expose them to general ridicule. Sometimes the man refuse to let himself be comforted.

Morgana moved to the bed and sat beside Arthur, resting her hand on his shoulder and not taking offence when he shrunk away from it instinctively. She drew in a breath to speak, but Arthur clearly was not finished and continued on with his description, a slight shudder running through him as he spoke.

"He was so… angry. I've never seen him that angry. I don't think I've ever seen him angry. Hurt, yes. That I could deal with. But angry? He's not like that. Merlin's… nice. He wasn't violent. He just stood there," Arthur pointed at the exact spot without looking, the entire scene emblazoned on his eyelids like a bright light in darkness, "and said…"

"_I AM NOT THAT KIND OF SERVANT." The doors banged shut after the boy and Arthur was alone. The Destruction began._

"What does that even mean?" the Prince asked, a brief flash of anger overwhelming his confusion as he sat up quickly, annoyed he had let himself appear so weak, even if it was in front of family. "I am not that kind of servant. What kind of servant? He makes no sense. Absolutely no fucking se-"

"He meant a whore," Morgana said quietly, directly, her eyes downcast. She didn't want to see Arthur's reaction to that most unexpected of revelations. Really, Arthur could be quite dim, but she knew he could recognise the truth when he heard it, and that it could often hurt him. Even not looking she heard his reaction and it pulled at her feelings for both boys. Arthur fell back against the pillows with a faint thwuff of air being knocked out of both him and the bedding. His voice, when it came was full of confusion and a hint of pain, and he stuttered. Morgana had never heard Arthur stutter before, and whilst in another situation it would have been hilarious (indeed, even in a situation almost equally painful, she would have gone after the joke to lighten the mood), she couldn't bring herself to feel anything other than pity.

"W-what?"

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

"Don't be sorry. Explain! Morgana!"

"You made him feel like a whore. I'm sure that would flatter most of the maids about the castle, slatterns, but Merlin didn't see it that way. You made him feel cheap, worthless even, and less than your servant. He must have felt a hell of a lot less than your friend, which you and I know he is, and more besides. You made him feel like a whore. _That_ kind of servant. And frankly, the way you've behaved, I shouldn't wonder. Fucking someone else last night, Arthur, for Christ's sake? Are you that stupid, Arthur?"

Morgana was about to enter a step by step critique of Arthur's conduct, accompanied by some choice curses and swears and possibly some slaps but she was interrupted by the door opening. Gwen slipped through the door, glancing from one royal to the other as she dipped in a barely-acceptable curtsey. The look she sent Arthur was positively murderous, and even though he had the decency to drop his head into his hands, it was clear that Gwen was not about to forgive anything. The girl had clearly been ministering to Merlin, and her voice, when she spoke, was curt and unerringly polite in a way Gwen, as the fun loving, informal favourite servant of most of the royal household, had no right to be.

"Sire, M'lady. Merlin offers his apologies at not giving further notice, but circumstances have meant that he must take up his position as Gaius' apprentice full time again and can no longer serve your Majesty. In any capacity," the woman added, her teeth gritted in defence of her friend. "He said he hopes you can find a more agreeable servant soon and insisted on me telling you-" Morgana could tell Gwen didn't want to force out whatever humble and too-good-for-Arthur words that Merlin had said, but knew that Gwen was too loyal to her friend to not speak –"to tell you it had been an honour. Sire."

Gwen began to tidy up, kneeling and mopping up the wine with a cloth pulled from her waist as Arthur stood from the bed, furious. He stalked towards her, gesticulating angrily, his face flushed an ugly red. "Then you can go back to the snivelling runt and tell him that – tell him that-"

With the dignity of a queen Gwen stood, Merlin's red scarf stained with wine in her other hand. Her look was venomous as she glanced from her own hand and what it had found to Arthur's which was pointing at her accusingly. Arthur stopped in his tracks, the colour draining from his face, the words dying on his lips. "What should I tell him? Sire?"

Arthur stood frozen for a moment, knowing that he probably deserved such insolence and yet naturally objecting to it after years of Your Highnesses and Yes, Your Majestys. "Nothing. NOTHING! Fuck it all, nothing!" The young man set off at a run and Morgana made to follow, worried about what would happen if Arthur was let loose in the castle, but Arthur only moved into the adjoining room, his private living room, for all activities not suitable for his main chamber. As he slammed his own door shut behind him, the Seer moved instead to her maidservant, who had dropped to her knees again to continue cleaning.

"Stop that, Gwen. You're not Arthur's servant."

"I'd rather do it than have that- that _bastard_ – send for Merlin," Gwen replied, looking away as she swore. Even when angry, her sensible nature advised her it was probably best not to insult one royal directly to another's face, no matter how close you were to the second royal. She mopped at the wine fiercely with her rag, and Morgana was left wondering what exactly her maid was picturing in it. No doubt Arthur, but how she had no idea.

"He won't. I'll stop him if he tries." Seeing that Gwen was determined to finish the job, Morgana joined her, glad for a physical distraction and in the process thoroughly dying a rather dull grey silk shawl a dappled burgundy, much to Gwen's silent horror. "How is Merlin?" she asked, after a few minutes of companionable silence where both women tried to ignore the violent noises emanating from the other room.

Gwen sighed, and stood again, the job done, and fingered the familiar red scarf in her hands. "Not good, Lady. Not good."

Both women tried to ignore the silence emanating from the other room.

* * *

Next chapter we visit Merlin with Gwen, and Morgana makes a slip up that can only make the situation worse. Still, she and Gwen are far more sensible than the two idiots they call their best friends, so how bad can it get?

Quite bad. :)

Reviews would be lovely – you should have seen my dance yesterday when I got some.

Also should the rating go up? There was more swearing and it got a bit dark up there… I'm rusty, so advice/ con crit would be nice.


	3. A Failed Friendship

I have amazed myself once again. Three chapters in as many days? Got to be a personal record. Oh, and here's a shout out to my reviewers. I love you all. Ok, so now that I've managed to sound like some kind of stalker with an attention seeking problem and a need for constant praise, I should probably get on with the story. This chapter turned out longer, and probably less angsty, than I intended. Anyhoo, here goes.

Title: The Art of Seduction (As taught by Gwen and Morgana)

Chapter Title: A Failed Friendhsip

Rating: T for swearing.

Summary: It's Merlin's turn to tell his side, and he does worse than Arthur.

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin and some one-sided Gwen/Merlin references.

* * *

Both women, servant and mistress, could not ignore the silence that Arthur so conspicuously maintained for long and in silent agreement they left the room to exchange a furiously whispered conversation in the hallway. Gareth and Gawain, the guards, wisely chose to spend the time in a gruff and pointless conversation of their own – they had no wish to be involved in the apparent conflict between Arthur and his probable future Queen, Morgana, and had no idea that their speculations could not be further from the truth.

Morgana began the conversation, leaning in close to her maidservant anxiously, as concerned for her as she was for Merlin. "Is he really that bad? Is there no chance of his coming back to work?"

Gwen looked suitably incredulous. "For Arthur? After what he did? I mean, I don't know the particulars. Merlin and I… we haven't had a chance to talk. He's been very quiet." She paused, remembering, and Morgana laid a hand on her shoulder, which went unnoticed. "My lady, it's that bad, and I don't think, with all respect, that Merlin will suffer working for that arrogant prick for a moment longer!" Her voice had risen from an angry whisper to a loud cry and as Morgana straightened in shock and a tad offended, the servant glanced down, chastened and also shocked at her own boldness. Gwen was Merlin's staunchest ally and proudest defender, but she hadn't imagined herself as aggressive in the pursuit of justice or revenge, whichever it was.

"Sorry, m'Lady. It's just- Merlin. I don't like to see him hurt."

Morgana was not the type to hold a grudge, unless it was against a Pendragon, and forgave Gwen as easily as she had been offended by the girl. Occasionally, Gwen did voice her thoughts without considering her position as another servant would, and Morgana couldn't tell whether it was this that caused Gwen to become her favourite, or Gwen being her favourite which encouraged her outspokenness. Either way, the two had reached a balance that, though perhaps not as close or extreme as Arthur and Merlin's had been, was stronger. Or so Morgana believed.

"Gwen, it's alright. I feel the same way about Arthur." The noblewoman paused, unsure about whether now was the right time to include Gwen in her plans to re-educate the prince, for the good of everyone. As she considered, she noticed Gwen's anxious looks over her shoulder along the corridor the way the servant girl had come – the way that led to Gaius' rooms. With a small smile and a nod of the head, Morgana stepped aside and Gwen, with a rush of gratitude that couldn't be expressed with mere words, had to stop herself from hugging her mistress before breaking into what passed as a ladylike run.

Slipping back inside the room with a silent smile of thanks to Gareth and Gawain, whose conversation about the flight patterns of swallows ended had now changed from forced distraction to riveting discussion, Morgana padded over to the adjoining room, the door of which was still firmly shut. Sighing, Morgana slid down the firm oak to sit with her chin on her knees, waiting patiently and wondering how many times she had had to do just this.

There was the time Arthur had first flirted with a noblewoman, only to have it go disastrously wrong when, having misjudged the age gap by about ten years on her side, he found himself being patted on the head and called cute. There had followed a noble 'retreat' of about three days, when only Morgana could persuade him to eat and was the only woman he could look at without turning a funny shade of puce that was assumed to be a repressed blush.

Then there had been the more serious occasions – the evenings of birthdays were generally the worst, before the feasts and drinking began and after the midday revels, when both Uther and Arthur, at opposite ends of the castle, wallowed in grief. Morgana was hardly impartial as to which of the Pendragons she preferred, but in this she genuinely sympathised more with Arthur, mourning a mother he never had, and she had spent hours on the other sides of doors that would eventually open singing old lullabies and talking, sometimes about absolutely nothing and sometimes about the most serious and heartfelt remembrances she could conjure up of her own mother and the still fainter stories of Igraine that she had been told.

This moment lay somewhere in between, and as Morgana rested her head back against the ancient wood, humming an old tune, she could already here the apologetic shufflings and movements of an uncomfortable, awkward but sorry Prince. Misanthropic he was not, and even when he was in the wrong and was sure to hear more about it, Arthur could not in good conscience remain alone. Duty to others, a sense that had been hammered out in his youth and sometimes raised its charming head, if a little skewed, made it impossible for him to ignore the woman on the other side of the door, even if the years of trust and friendship between them did not also pull him to remove the cross bar and open the door.

The two, with an understanding born of years rather than women's intuition, moved silently through the main room, gathering up shards of potters and folding up the ripped curtains to be repaired or reused elsewhere. If Morgana felt disgust when she picked up Sir Percival's shield and a pair of discarded breeches too small for Arthur, then she did not show or speak it and set them aside by the door, as if to remove the spectre of the man who had nothing and everything to do with this. Only when it came to the table did the conversation begin. Morgana might have been and probably was stronger than Arthur's manservant, but even she couldn't right it alone and nearly dropped it on her satin-clad toes. With no more than an "allow me," Arthur had taken it from her and placed it back where it had been with ease.

"At least I can commend your chivalry now. However, there is much else that needs work."

"Must we talk about this now?" Arthur folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the table, even as he felt his objections deflating. Morgana knew the measure of him too well, and it was becoming harder and harder to look her in the eye and tell her she was wrong. Either Arthur was getting weaker at resisting her, or he was simply wrong more of the time. Neither notion pleased him particularly and he frowned, trying not to look as if he was listening attentively to his friend's every criticism.

"Yes. We should start with Sir Percival."

Surprised, Arthur looked up at Morgana, whose posture mirrored his, arms crossed, leaning against the bed post opposite and frowning directly at him. "Why him? The issue is Merlin. What's Percival got to do with it?"

Sometimes Arthur's blatant stupidity and stubborn mind blew Morgana out of the water. Her eyebrows flew up as her eyes widened in shock. "This is a man you slept with last night! He has everything to do with it, and we have to deal with it now. Arthur, the last thing this situation needs is a jilted lover! Do you at least understand that?" Taking his stunned silence as a yes, which was possibly giving Arthur more credit than he deserved, Morgana continued. "Considering that you have the tact of an avaricious apothecary in plague, I should probably do the talking. If you're lucky he'll be reasonable, though you don't deserve it the way you've behaved."

"Morgana- No, wait, Morgana – I wasn't trying to hurt him. Or anyone. Merlin, too, I wasn't- I wouldn't…"

"I know, Arthur. I know. But he doesn't. Come on, we have a lot more to talk about."

* * *

When Gwen arrived back at Gaius', out of breath and with a stubbed toe after an idiot opened a door in her path, the old man was out and Merlin was where she had left him, at the bench. A pile of herbs, viciously cut, lay to one side, and Merlin was now staring aggressively at an empty pot on the shelf opposite. Gwen was not to know that said pot had already exploded several times and been painstakingly fixed with magic each time. Merlin was far too good natured to let even a humble pot suffer his own anger, especially when Gaius had promised to take them out of any salary he might get when he'd seen the first one blow up.

Gwen slid onto the bench seat opposite him, breaking the stare pointedly. Life, they say, is made up of more silence than words, and this certainly seemed true for this particular day in Camelot for as silence reigned in the prince's chambers Gwen found herself facing the same unnatural quiet as she sat with possibly the most talkative member of the entire royal household. Eventually, after more than one awkward glace around the room, Gwen took a deep breath an ventured forth more bravely than any knight of Camelot into the realm of conversation.

"So, I saw Morgana and Arthur and I told hi-"

"I DON'T want to talk about Arthur." The shout was accompanied by a fist slammed down on the table that made the chopped herbs jump up, as shocked as Gwen was by the violence. The pure shock of it brought tears to her eyes, and for a moment, Gwen felt something like fear towards her dearest friend. All she could see as she struggled for breath and words to apologise with was Merlin's back, hastily moving towards his own room. Gwen wanted to call out to stop him, feeling horribly like it was her own fault, even while her mind told her to blame Arthur and solely Arthur for forcing her friend to become something he never was.

Moments before he reached the door Merlin stopped and had she been able to see his face, Gwen's heart might have stopped, as his whole resolve and expression seemed to collapse in on itself and he had to raise a shaking hand to his eyes to hold back what felt painfully like tears of remorse for his actions and plain despair at the whole situation. As it was, the mere downwards movement of his shoulders brought her running from her seat, and she forgave him is anger the moment he turned and hugged her tightly, murmuring broken sorrys into her shoulder as he drew in shaky breaths.

When Merlin released her, he moved to sit on the bench again with his head in his hands and Gwen, a faithful friend, sat beside him, rubbing his back as though he were ill. After a while, indistinct words came tumbling out of Merlin's mouth and though Gwen had to ask him to repeat himself, she soon understood.

"He said nothing." Her answer received the best quizzical look that Merlin in his current state could provide. "Well, he said 'nothing.' Shouted it. He accepted your decision though. Without actually accepting it. He was upset," Gwen added as an afterthought, trying to ignore the pang of betrayal she felt and the accusing glance from the boy beside her that confirmed it. It was the truth, she supposed, but now was probably not the best time for the truth.

"Angry upset?" the boy asked, with more than a hint of disgust at the idea, "or this kind of upset?" The vague gesture he made towards himself ended up with his hand over his mouth, as if he were trying to choke his own words.

"Angry," Gwen admitted, and, in a moment of empathy, snorted with repugnance. She could understand somewhat why the idea of Arthur being upset after whatever he did might seem hypocritical and pathetic to her friend, but she could imagine nothing, no scenario or insult, that would lead to such anger in her friend. For as long as she had known Merlin, the young man had put up with very possible humiliation or degradation that Arthur had thrown his way, and Gwen was hard pressed to come up with a reason for his pain. Tentatively, she leaned down closer to her friend. "Merlin, look, you don't have to tell me, but what happened up there? What did he do?"

Merlin leapt up again, took two paces away, two paces back and turned away again before finally standing in front of Gwen. His whole body buzzed with a kind of nervous energy and he tried to begin. "He tried to- He- You know this morning, when I was talking about Sir Percival?" This seemed to be a question, but Merlin left no time for Gwen to answer, using what little resolve he had left to power through the rest of his explanation. "How he and Arthur… well, you know." Merlin paused and Gwen, realising this did for some reason require an answer, nodded furiously, her forehead furrowed in worry for her friend. She longed to reach out and touch him, just to relieve some of the agitation that showed itself in Merlin's shaking hands and feet which moved constantly.

Barely pausing to breath, Merlin continued. "So, he summons me, I'm guessing to go get sir Percival, and decided I'm more convenient than him and just – he- well- he- Gwen. I can't say it. I'm sorry." Gwen had never wanted to hug the boy more than in that moment, but some force of nature kept her in her seat, knowing this wasn't finished and that she had to wait until it was, or it would never be said. Merlin felt it too and, after a shaky breath, began again.

"So then, then, there was a wall." Merlin looked down at his feet, burning with shame at the memory of it all, and with horror Gwen saw the beginnings of a bruise peeking out from under his shirt at the back of his neck. Anger rose like bile in her stomach. To think she had almost pitied Arthur. She should have torn out his eyes for doing that to Merlin, her Merlin!

"Then I got out. I pushed him, I think," Merlin lied. Inside, despite everything, despite all the anger and fear and disgust, a nagging thread of guilt reminded Merlin that he had used magic against Arthur, to hurt Arthur. He pushed it away, knowing it would spring up again when least wanted. Sometimes, he thought cynically, he was too conscientious for his own good. He had resolved not to care about Arthur, destiny be damned, and here he was, wondering if using magic had betrayed him. Betrayed him?! It was practically laughable. In his hysterical state, though, laughter soon turned to tears, and Merlin had to gulp at the lump in his throat, his vision blurring a little and his throat aching.

"So I ran here. I thought we were friends, Gwen, I really did. I overestimated him. And me. After all that, I was just another body, to be used however the Pendragons saw fit. Fuck that! Fuck them ALL!" Merlin sat beside her again and bent over himself, his head in his arms and his shoulders shaking as he tried not to cry. Indeed, his hands soon clenched into fists again and any sign of sorrow was gone as anger, unhealthy but more comfortable, slipped over him like a warm cloak, heating his blood and confirming himself.

It was hard to believe. Gwen sat, staring at the floor, and tried to understand how Arthur, dear god, Arthur, the prince that everyone thought would lead Camelot into the light after Uther, could be so cruel, so ugly. She had thought he'd changed, thought Merlin had changed him, but no. There was Merlin, more miserable than Gwen had ever seen him, tearing holes in her heart with every sound he made, and Arthur had just stamped on every code of honour and ideal Gwen had believed he held.

She couldn't see another side to it. Her mind flashed back to Morgana, comforting her friend with words and smiles – How could she? How could she bear to look at the man, after the pain he had put Merlin through, just for being more convenient than a lover who was probably no less than ten minutes away? It made Gwen want to be sick, that Arthur could sit there, so unconcerned. What was a shouted word when Merlin was here, looking like he could die at any moment?

Still, Gwen said nothing, as her emotions raged inside her, each thought damning Arthur or raising Merlin to unparalleled heights of admiration for his fortitude, his dignity, his modesty, humility, and every other virtue he possessed exaggerated. Gwen could not see the other side, as Morgana did. The two loved differently, and where Morgana was more detached emotionally she was more rational, and the opposite was with Gwen. What little defence there was for Arthur Gwen could not see, and though she kept silent, she would not trust herself in the Prince's presence.

After a few minutes had slipped by unobtrusively, Gwen slipped her arm around him, wondering if she could pick the right words. "Merlin – I know you're angry, but, what Arthur did, it doesn't say anything about you. What he did, it doesn't change anything about you. You don't have to think that, well…" She trailed off, and the hollow laugh the came humourlessly from Merlin confirmed that she had not chosen well.

"Any revelation I might have got from that I achieved three years ago, Gwen, with Will. You knew that, didn't?" Gwen shook her head slowly, mouth a little open as inside her heart, Merlin took his foot out of the door marked Romance, leaving a little more room for Lancelot, and settled himself on his best friend pedestal. Funnily enough, the dismissal of all her hopes only increased her protectiveness of her friend and she was about to begin a tirade against Arthur when Merlin spoke again.

He sounded strange, as if he was far away inside his own thoughts, which for a boy who seemed to live in the moment more than anyone she knew, was worrying. "No, Gwen, I don't think that's what's got me angry. It's just, in all my life, everything I've done, I've never felt so useless, no, so worthless. Meaningless. I didn't think Arthur would be the one to make me feel like that. I thought he was better than that." Merlin took a breath and spoke again with a forced cheeriness that was painful to hear. "Well, I was wrong. Gwen, I've got a lot of work to catch up on for Gaius, so…"

"Oh. Right. Well then. I'll stop by again later. Merlin. Merlin, feel better, please." A little hurt, Gwen backed out of the room, reasoning to herself that if Merlin wanted to be alone, it was probably for the best. Closing the door behind her quietly, she almost bumped into Morgana. Her look hardened as she remembered whose side her mistress supposedly was on, but softened as she met her worried eyes.

"Is he any better?" The soft lilt and wide, wet eyes would have melted any man's heart, and any woman should have felt sympathy, but where Merlin was concerned, Gwen was made of iron. Still, she gave her mistress a small smile of gratitude at the sentiment and shook her head as she moved off.

Morgana followed, her voice full of desperation. She needed Gwen's help if she was to salvage anything for Arthur. "Look, Gwen, this is all Arthur's fault and he knows that, now. I mean, Merlin, of all people! But we have to help-" Morgana stopped abruptly. Gwen had turned and now stood in front of her, arms folded. Few people had ever managed to silence Morgana, it was not in her nature to be silenced, but Gwen, with a neutral expression that could only be forced, did so without effort.

"Merlin, of all people?" Gwen's voice was icily light, and demanded no answer. "Because he's a servant? Or because he's a man? No, that doesn't matter, does it? Look at Percival. So it's the servant issue."

"Gwen, I-"

"Merlin is worth ten of Arthur, in every respect. So whatever your idea is to make Merlin go back to that worthless rat of a Prince and beg forgiveness and feel even more wretched than he is now, I do not want to hear it. Merlin doesn't deserve it. And Arthur certainly doesn't deserve him." Gwen paused, uncertain now. Here she was, at the brink, ready to cast herself off the edge. She took a deep breath and jumped. "If that means I can no longer serve you, than so be it. I shall not apologise for speaking so."

Gwen turned the corner and moved off, leaving her mistress with a hand against the wall to support herself, gaping and wondering how she had been so dragged into Arthur's mess as to create her own. Morgana finally gathered her wits enough to call out after Gwen, but she was long gone pr ignoring her, and Morgana was left alone in the corridor, swearing viciously.

* * *

Yes, ok, so I skipped Morgana's meticulous critique of Arthur but really, we know what he did wrong and so does she. I can leave it up to your nimble imaginations to figure out what was said, and there may be some flash backs along the way.

As it goes, this is a mega chapter anyway – it seemed so much shorter in my mind, but there you go. Maybe I should have ended before the Gwen Morgana conversation, but I liked the symmetry between the beginning and the end (*crosses fingers and hopes that came across*) and I wanted to end on a mini cliffy kinda thing.

Also, those of you who noticed my Monty Python reference, forgive me, I couldn't resist. And has anyone noticed anything else about our two favourite Camelot guards?

So, if you got this far (and there are twenty two of you who have this on alert – you have no idea how happy that made me-) and you feel like you could, please review. Concrit is my life's blood. Thankies!


	4. Starting Small

I feared I wouldn't get this chapter out today, thus breaking my good streak, but no, I was determined, and finished it in time. Woot! I felt especially motivated by the wonderful reviews I received, proof that they are worth it. I hope you enjoy this next slither of angst.

Title: The Art of Seduction (As taught by Gwen and Morgana)

Chapter Title: Starting Small

Rating: T This chapter doesn't really deserve this rating, but hey, it fits in with the others this way. You wouldn't want it to be bullied.

Summary: Morgana fixes some things and makes others worse. She's not perfect.

* * *

Morgana, having lost all hope of catching up with her servant, moved quickly from the corridor by Gaius' rooms back to Arthur's chambers. The guard had changed and the new pair whose names she had never endeavoured to learn were familiar to the lady as notorious eavesdroppers and gossipers, but clearly their predecessors had passed on some words of wisdom regarding the events, as both stared resolutely ahead as Morgana swept through the doors.

Arthur was still there, as per her orders, but not as she had left him. Following their 'little talk' Arthur had spent several minutes sitting on his bed, staring at his shoes and muttering violently about how sensitive people could be. Now, however, he had clearly decided there were more constructive ways to take out his frustrations and was practicing his swordplay and looking every inch the determined soldier before a hard and long battle, which in a way, he was. As he landed blow after blow on the wooden figure, leaving a small pile of sawdust at its base, Morgana coughed irritably, annoyed that her entrance had been ignored, especially when she was the supposed saviour of the entire situation. She regretted her irritation moments later.

The Prince turned with his sword still raised above his head, but his determined expression melted into one of hope at the sight of Morgana and he sheathed his weapon without looking, a movement that would have left a less experienced fighter with a hole in his leg or at the very least a snapped belt and his trousers around his ankles. Arthur's eyes were wide and childlike in their expectation and Morgana felt herself break a little inside when she slowly shook her head. Even though it was Arthur's fault, she couldn't help but feel she'd failed somehow and a seed of determination sprung up in her, born of guilt and affection.

She would get Gwen on side, she had to, because Arthur was, well, Arthur, and Merlin had to forgive him. Otherwise… she didn't like to ponder the outcome, and whilst it was hardly going to be destruction on the scale her dreams sometimes reached, seer or not Morgana could tell there would be a lot of pain involved, most likely on both sides, Arthur because it was his own damn fault and because he liked Merlin and Merlin because he was too loyal and moral to be true. The boy, Morgana could tell, would eventually find some small fault of his own in the situation and agonise about it hopelessly. She just had to convince Gwen of it. Once that happened, well, the rest of the plan would follow on logically, or as logically as two emotional and biased females who were technically powerless in a patriarchal could manage.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I spoke to Gwen, again, and he's not going to come back." Morgana stepped closer to Arthur and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Arthur, we knew that wouldn't happen. It can't be that easy. There are so many things that need doing – you need to wait for him to calm down, and then he needs to trust you, and you need to be his friend again... It's just this first part that feels awful, but you have to wait it out."

The man shrugged off her hand as a young boy bearing a tray entered silently, laid it on the table and left with a quick bow. He pulled the whole gesture off with the air of a frightened rabbit, and Morgana imagined him to be a kitchen boy who'd never visited the royal chambers before. Arthur glanced at the meal before slouching in the new chair, his feet on the table. The chair, incidentally, had been provided as soon as Arthur had let the guards know it was broken by flinging it at them in a small relapse into anger.

"So you didn't actually see Merlin?" The Prince seemed insufferably hopeful, his tone suggesting that if the words hadn't come straight from the horse's mouth it was therefore possible they were entirely untrue, conveniently ignoring the fact that Gwen was possibly closer to Merlin than anyone else. He had a knack for setting aside truths that didn't appeal to him. Morgana, however, was not to the type to allow this blatant indulgence, particularly when it could only lead to her friend's hopes being dashed again.

"Arthur." This gentle insistence was all that was needed to make Arthur sag down slightly as he acknowledged his folly. "Look, you need to get out of the castle, away from – away from everything. Go hunting, tomorrow, with your men. It'll do you good. Arthur? Promise me you'll go hunting tomorrow. I don't want you moping abut here, it won't help." The blonde mop rose and fell in assent, and Morgana turned, picking up Percival's shield and breeches with slight distaste as she moved to leave.

"Thank you, Morgana. For everything. And Percival."

The lady smiled grimly. "My pleasure, Arthur." Delivering clothing to Arthur's floozies had never topped her list of fun activities, but compared to the task she was faced with it seemed easy. Added to that was the fact that Morgana could hardly trust the task to Arthur, given his past record, and all in all it looked like a wise decision. She could only hope that the young knight would be reasonable.

"Eat something, go on, and try not to think about it too much." She opened the door, peering at him anxiously, before moving to leave. She knew that it was impossible for Arthur to look skinnier after only a few hours of torment, but from the way he was regarding his food, as despondently as a cow might her butchered brother, it wouldn't have surprised Morgana if the Prince had to get his tunics taken in before too long. And even though a week ago she might have said a little heartbreak could only do wonders for Arthur's character, seeing it was far worse than even she could have imagined, and she supposedly had the gift of prophesy.

As an afterthought, she turned back, adding carelessly, "Have you thought about getting a new servant?" The plate of food hit the floor with a crash, as did the shield. Cursing herself, Morgana rushed apologetically to Arthur as he buried his face in her shoulder, not crying, but closer to it than he had been all day. The two grasped each other for a few moments, Morgana muttering apologies and comforting sentiments all the way until Arthur broke away and, the picture of humility, began to clear up the mess he'd made.

Well, Morgana thought as she picked up the shield and breeches again, it's a start.

* * *

Sir Percival's quarters were in the draughtier West Wiing of the Castle and as Morgana arrived it became clear that the new knight's move from the North Tower, the freezing home of the trainees, had not yet been completed. Indeed, she was left for a full minute standing outside the room after her knock as a nervous voice clearly not used to being authoritative tried to decide where a bench should go. Eventually, to escape the decision, the knight opened the door, fully expecting a lowly servant with some message about sword practice. Percival's mouth fell open when instead he found the famous Lady Morgana leaning against the opposite wall.

Giving her most charming smile, Morgana silently nodded her head to the movers and with a few stammered words Percival had dismissed them and ushered Morgana in, leaving the unhappy bench upside down in the middle of the room. The room itself was small for a castle chamber, but comfortable and practical, as befitted the newest addition to the knights of Camelot. Besides the small matter of there being nowhere to sit, it was quite perfect.

"Sir Percival," Morgana began, turning to face the young knight, before she found herself interrupted. The young man was clearly not used to the direct nature of conversations amongst the nobility of Camelot, as he timidly inquired as to how he should address her. "Morgana. Call me Morgana. But, Sir Percival, whilst I also bring congratulations on your becoming a knight of Camelot, this is not purely a social visit. I must talk with you seriously."

The dark haired man nodded earnestly and, after Morgana made a slight gesture, came to his senses and righted the bench for her to sit on. With a grateful smile she accepted the seat and handed him the contents of her arms. "These are yours, I believe. You… misplaced them, I believe, last night. Or perhaps this morning." The youth blushed crimson and Morgana was struck by how much he did is that respect resemble Merlin. Yes, she could certainly see how her friend might use the boy, even unintentionally, subconsciously, as a practice.

Sir Percival was tall and of the same thin build as Merlin, and the crop of black hair was cut in a similar fashion, but the differences were more marked in Morgana's views than the similarities. Percival was clearly stronger than Merlin, and naturally so – he was the lean and strong type, rather than Merlin's weak foal-like frame. Percival's face bore all the marks of nobility that Merlin's lacked as well: the strong chin that Morgana could see in herself and Arthur's family, the remarkable nose and a brightness around the eyes that showed a lack of difficulty in life that peasants could not match, however optimistic.

The skin too was different, as Merlin's was almost ethereal in appearance while Percival was so much more real, his skin pale for lack of sun and a bad hangover rather than nature. The man was handsome too, where Merlin was – Morgana didn't like to think not, but she couldn't see much there, aside from the smile. But where Merlin was confident, even cheeky in his conversation, this man mumbled and glanced down, instinctively humble. It charmed Morgana, and she smiled at him, quite forgetting he was somewhat responsible for the mess they were all in.

"I assume you know where I discovered these items," Morgana continued and Percival nodded sheepishly. "I have to tell you that what happened between you and Prince Arthur, well, it cannot happen again. Do you understand why? You are now a knight under his command and he cannot risk such an attachment. It would only cause unhappiness." The lady paused, ready for protests, anger or even tears from the young man.

Instead, green eyes met hers with a rather bemused look. "Thank you, m'lday, I mean, Morgana, but I never expected – that is, I thought, I imagined that what occurred would not happen again. For those reasons you said, of course, you could not be more right, but also because, well, I considered it a drun- a misguided event, a mistake. I have only the greatest respect for Prince Arthur, but I did not imagine there to be anything more on either part." Morgana was amazed that such an apparently timid creature could be so bold and frank, and, taking in the news he imparted, she positively beamed at him.

So happy was she at the weight now lifted from her shoulders that Morgana quite forgot what she was meant to say next and stumbled slightly on her words. "Oh, well, that's, well – I can only say that Prince Arthur holds great respect for you too, and expects you to be high among his knights. He has told me of your strength and humility as a knight and his pride at your having joined his knights. He asked me to express his regret at having caused you any pain, but since this is not the case I'm sure he will be most pleased." Having finished satisfactorily, Morgana glanced at the young knight again.

Despite his declarations, she was still slightly surprised to find that, though he struggled against it with all the manners and good teaching that had no doubt been instilled in him over the years, Percival's eye-line had travelled from Morgana's face to a point several inches further down, and whilst Arthur would indubitably be outraged before performing exactly the same thing himself on the next girl to walk by, Morgana was only amused and flattered in the way she had been taught. Rising, she moved to leave.

"Thank you, Sir Percival, for your frankness and civility. You have taken a weight off my mind. My deepest congratulations are with you on your knighthood." She paused, considering, before deciding that the events could hardly become more convoluted without her contribution. After all, what harm could it do? She should have learnt by now that no good idea was justified by that sentiment. "I wonder if you would indulge me further? I have yet no one to sit beside me at the next banquet. As the latest to enter Camelot's knights would you give me the honour of your company?"

If Percival was shocked by Morgana's boldness, he hid it well. "I should be the one honoured, M'lady. Good night." Morgana left with a smile, glad that one issue had been dealt with.

"The bench looks lovely there, by the way, Sir Percival." He resolved never to move it.

* * *

Returning to her own chambers and feeling as if it had been years since she had last left them, Morgana found Gwen rearranging her hairbrushes. The servant looked up anxiously at her mistress, and darted forward, claiming the first words to pass with an urgency that spoke of hours of worrying. "My Lady, I must apologise for my words this afternoon. I spoke in haste and-"

"No, Gwen, I must apologise to you. My words about poor Merlin were unacceptable, however I meant them and as for-" Morgana's eyes were wide as she spoke quickly, grasping onto her hands and pleading for forgiveness from her one ally and friend other than Arthur in this matter.

"To talk of the Prince, your friend, in such vulgar terms was improper of me, and violated any-" Gwen shook her head and looked at her feet, the ceiling, the walls, anywhere Morgana was not, flushed with shame. Her voice was lower and stilted, her admissions coming freely and marred only by her own embarrassment and sorrow.

As both women realised they could not hear their own apologies for the others they slowed and stopped, hands still clasped desperately as they stared at one another, unsure as to how close they had come to breaking their bond. Eventually, amid the seriousness of it all, Morgana laughed and Gwen soon followed until they were shaking with mirth together. The idea of Gwen leaving her was so frightening, so unreal, that it was easier to ignore it with laughter than truly acknowledge it.

Even so, both soon stepped back, and Morgana held Gwen's gaze steadily. The trust she saw there was tentative, still shaken by the day's events and Morgana knew it, like everything else in the situation, was going to take time to heal. "We must not allow this to happen again. We must be stronger than them if we are to help them at all. Arthur is a fool – if I act like him you must stop me. I cannot lose a friend like you, Gwen. I know what it would do to me."

"And I am unforgiving. You must not let me become so single minded – I see only my own view. There is always another." Gwen nodded to herself, determined to change and looked up at her mistress, asking without asking to hear her side. The taller woman sighed and settled herself in the chair and Gwen picked up a hairbrush and began the routine, finding comfort in it as Morgana searched for words.

"In this case I fear there is not much of one. This is Arthur's fault, yes. I can only say that his intentions are good, and Merlin may have taken the wrong view of the events, though the right one is hardly any better. What does Merlin think, Gwen?" Morgana glanced at her servant in the mirror and the girl returned the look, a sadness appearing in her eyes as she remembered her friend's words.

"That he was convenient. A body to be used as the Pendragons see fit were his words, I believe." Gwen could not help the words sounding bitter, though she bit her lip in apology when she realised how harsh she sounded. The mere memory, conceived only hours before, brought a feeling of hatred in her stomach to whoever had made her friend feel so worthless.

Morgana sighed. "I feared as much. That is not true, I can say that definitely, Gwen, though I fear we cannot convince Merlin so. He must always take a negative view of himself and be convinced of it. Still… Gwen, what I tell you now was told to me in confidence. You must not tell anyone, especially Merlin. He would not believe it, but even so. It must not leave your lips." Morgana did not wait for Gwen's answer, trusting her implicitly. "Arthur _feels _for Merlin. Not loves, not yet, but cares for. Deeply."

"But he-"

"I know. Arthur can be very stupid."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, quite."

No more words were needed and Gwen completed her duties in silence. Only when she was leaving, her mistress prepared for and installed in bed, did Morgana break the quiet. "Arthur will be gone tomorrow. Hunting. So Merlin need not fear, well, chancing upon him. I was planning on attending the fair and wondered if, when you accompanied me, he might care to come along. As I said, Arthur will be gone, so…" The suggestion was tentative, as Morgana knew now from experience how fiercely defensive of Merlin Gwen could become at a moment's notice.

"I will ask him, my lady. Thank you." Gwen left with a small smile.

Morgana blew out the candles, swallowed a new tonic from Gaius and prayed for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Funnily enough, neither Merlin nor Arthur appeared greatly in this chapter, it was more of a Morgana-ssey. But, next chapter I promise will be more exciting and contain actual physical contact between Merlin and Arthur! Yay!

Only RixxiSpooks got the extra fact about our guards, and for that she gets a trophy. And possibly any other prize I have to give, should she request it. Gawain and Gareth are members of the Round Table in the traditional tale. :) Well done for geekiness equal to mine!

Reviews are almost as good as Arthur/Merlin moments to a fangirl like me.

Thankies!


	5. May Day

So I broke my streak. I blame the dentist. Yesterday I had fillings and the anaesthetic didn't wear off for hours and this… somehow… affected my writing abilities. That and I went to the theatre. I saw David Haig (Bernard- Four Weddings and a Funeral) – I love him. He's hilarious. So the chappy is a little late. Sorry. I feel I let down my reviewers – I love you all so very much for reviewing. The reviewers get cupcakes. Well, they would if I could bake.

In other news this story has nearly 2000 hits and nearly 1000 visitors. For such a small fandom, that's amazing! Yay for you!

Title: The Art of Seduction (as taught by Gwen and Morgana)

Chapter Title: May Day (PUN!)

Rating: T for excessive moodiness from Merlin. Warning – it is extremely upsetting to see Merlin angry. You have been warned.

Summary: Gwen and Morgana's attempt to cheer Merlin up doesn't go to plan. Arthur's pretty miserable too. Well, he can't be left out.

* * *

When Merlin awoke it was to the relentlessly cheery sound of the fair. Rather than beginning early the revelries had simply not ceased and drunken fools still roamed the streets as the more respectable tradesmen began to reopen their stalls for the new day's business. Children were skipping across the square leaving harassed and distraught mothers to quench their fears with a mug of ale. The fair was the one chance every citizen of Camelot had to be carefree and without worries and many took it. A minority took it too far and as he groaned and tried to catch another wink of sleep Merlin could imagine that the dungeons were full of the drunk and disorderly of the night before. He just hoped that Arthur, in his duty as captain of the guard and general royal ponce, had been vomited upon at some point in the evening. It seemed only fair.

The crack of dawn was not a comforting moment of the day and Merlin hated to be awake, staring at the ceiling as the sun spread silently across it, if only for the knowledge that the only reason he was up was because Arthur had demanded it of his servant. Now an ex-servant Merlin was stuck in the pattern and even the fact that for the first time in weeks the Dragon had not interrupted his sleep with unheeded summons did not cheer the young warlock.

Eventually deciding to submit to fate and get up, Merlin pulled on his clothes reluctantly. He had changed his shirt and trousers but he could have sworn his coat still bore the wrinkles from the previous day's events. When he came to pick up the scarf Gwen had returned to him a wave of horror overcame him and he had to sit down, staring at the stained material in his hand. Arthur had done this, he really had. The scarf was stained. It didn't take a genius to extend the metaphor to the owner, especially when he remembered the Prince's hand at is throat, tearing the scarf away, flinging it down. The young warlock shuddered.

A smash of pottery informed the boy that Gaius was up and trying hard to shrug of the memory, Merlin left his room. The old man looked up apologetically at him and without thinking Merlin fixed the smashed pot with a wave of his hand, ironically noting that it was the same one he had practiced on for much of the previous afternoon. The old man looked at him curiously as he picked up the pot and replaced it on the shelf.

"Merlin, shouldn't you be attending to your duties for the Prince?" Gaius meant kindly, Merlin knew, but the man always seemed to be reminding him of things he particularly didn't want to talk about. Arthur and any person or action connected to him currently topped that list and Merlin's eyes nearly flashed gold as he imagined ways of preventing that name coming from any person's mouth. A small voice in his head asked why he shouldn't, as he'd already used magic against the berk, but it was quashed by the much louder forces of common sense and conscience that ruled Merlin.

Still, the young man visibly bristled at the mention of Camelot's Crown Prince and sat down at the table, his jaw fixed and staring at the opposite wall. "I told you last night, I'm not his servant anymore." Merlin tried to ignore the frown that crept across his guardian's face as the old man realised what he had mistaken as a simple quarrel or for want of a better word, a lover's tiff, easily reconciled and mended, was anything but that. "I thought I could work for you."

There was a hesitation as Gaius recalled the bottles of precious medicine he had lost to Merlin's clumsiness before the boy had been reassigned to Arthur, and, slightly more importantly, the value that Merlin had proved to the Prince the countless times he had saved his life. Gaius couldn't help thinking that it was a bad idea for Merlin to stop working for Arthur, but had the wisdom not to quarrel with an angry teenaged warlock who had mastered the power of Life and Death.

"If you think so, Merlin. Was there any particular reason for your leaving Arthur's service?"

"He's a prat." The joke, if it was intended as one, fell flat, not least because it was delivered through gritted teeth as Merlin practically glared a hole in the stone wall. An awkward silence reigned for a few moments as Gaius tidied and Merlin was too preoccupied in hating to even notice the bowl of porridge that was placed in front of him. The unusual silence ate away as Gaius and he sent glance after glance towards the troubled young boy, receiving nothing in return, and wondered where his smile had gone.

Eventually the old man, feeling far too much like a parent for his own good, settled himself down heavily opposite Merlin and fixed what can only be called a Look upon him. "Merlin, explain yourself. You are not yourself today, and you weren't last night. What is wrong?"

"If I'm not myself, how can I explain myself?" Merlin snapped back with the childishness of any teenager, coming close to folding his arms smugly but stopping himself when he realised exactly who he was acting like. In his mind each of Arthur's bad traits had been exemplified to a monstrous view of the man and Merlin didn't want to identify himself with any part of it. He held himself stiffly for a moment, trying and failing to hold the old man's unwavering stare before he sighed and laid his forehead against the table, narrowly missing the bowl of porridge.

Gaius leaned forward anxiously. "Merlin?"

The boy raised his head and there was a glimmer of an apologetic smile around his eyes if it didn't make it to his mouth. "I'm sorry, Gaius. Bad day."

"Already?" Gaius asked, not incredulous. He knew how many of Merlin's nights had been interrupted – the boy might think he was subtle and stealthy when he crept out late at night, but Gaius imagined stealthy practice did not include walking into doors, tables and occasionally the very person that was supposedly being avoided. Still, Merlin hadn't even stirred the night before. Whatever Merlin was not telling him about his encounter with Arthur was serious.

"Listen, Gaius, just trust me on this. I'm better off not working for… him. So's he, really. Trust me." No smile now, but Merlin's voice lacked the hollowness that had haunted it since Gaius' return from his rounds. Now, however, the pain that had hidden under it was exposed and raw and Gaius found himself wishing for its return. He didn't have to wait long – Merlin, hearing it in himself and disliking the weakness it suggested returned to ruthlessly suppressing emotion. "So we shouldn't talk about it. Any work for me today?"

"No, no, I'm afraid I did much of my work yesterday. That's the problem with peace, very bad for business. No doubt I will be pestered for hangover cures today but all I can recommend is water and rest. Bear that in mind yourself, boy, if you're thinking of going to the fair. You know you can barely survive mead, one step around the wine merchants will have you singing like any of the fools." The comments did not make Merlin laugh as they once might have but a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth and it gladdened his guardian's heart. "You are going, I assume, to the fair?"

Merlin's mouth twisted down as he considered the possibility. It would be his first May fair at Camelot and he had always enjoyed the meagre celebration at Ealdor, with the maypole and the one night's revels. At Camelot the celebration was sure to be extraordinary and following the official opening the day before Merlin knew there was still much fun to be had. All in all though, it was far to open a place – he might run into anyone there, anyone being a specific someone that Merlin was none too keen to meet so soon.

He was about to shake his head ruefully when Gwen burst into the room, her smile clearly intended to lift the spirits of all the rooms occupants. "Merlin! My lady wishes to visit the fair and I am to accompany her. Will you join us?" He would have answered, but reading his face Gwen hurried on, conscious that in front of Gaius the less she gave away the better. "The Prince has gone hunting with his knights, so we are without male escort. Merlin?"

Gwen's smile had shrunk to a hopeful glimmer and her eyes peered at him anxiously even as she held out her hand to him. There was a moment's pause and no one moved, Gaius as involved in the action as much as either of the supposed participants, his eyes keenly observing the run of emotions that crossed Merlin's only-too-open face. A beat passed and Merlin tilted his head, almost smiled and grabbed Gwen's hand with a nod. The smile that lit up hers as she pulled him forcibly from the room was natural and Merlin could not help but echo it.

* * *

"Gwen, what do you think of this scent?"

Merlin had never seen Camelot so crowded. Whole villages had travelled in large carts or caravans of travellers to attend the spring festival. Children danced together lost in their own world of noises and smells they had never before experienced, or around the maypole, uncoordinated and chaotically but all the more beautifully for it. Gnarled elderly men gossiped from chairs about old fairs over cheap tankards of fortified wine or mead while their wives traded their needlework for an extra coin or two.

Even the darker side of Camelot, in the form of pickpockets, pimps and the poor seemed lightened, as though the atmosphere was infectious, and those evils which were truly so and not the result of circumstances were being dealt with. Extra guards had been rolled out in preparation for the fair and Merlin had already spotted two notoriously vicious pimps being carted away, caught off guard, and he himself had helped a young pickpocket avoid her pursuers. His morals may have been skewed in that respect, but it left Merlin feeling thoroughly satisfied.

Young couples embraced the pagan romantic side to the festival with gusto in corners or alleyways and Morgana had to avert her eyes from many perfectly natural but improper activities if she was to entertain any idea of being a modest young woman, while Gwen and Merlin gawped blatantly and guffawed. The smells of the fair, though not all pleasant were intoxicating as were the whirl of colours that surrounded them. Different musics filtered in from different areas of the fair, fiddles and flutes and trumpets filling the air with a joyful cacophony.

Merlin had been accompanying Gwen and Morgana for over an hour now, and even with the copious amount of shopping the two women had done he still was full of energy. The prospect of the fair had excited him even when he had feared a meeting with Arthur, but now with that possibility removed he was positively exuberant, rushing from stall to stall with wide eyes. Each new exciting delicacy or luxury appealed more than the last and Gwen had found herself dragging her friend away from scams and worthless junk more than she should have. Left to himself Merlin might have spent all the savings he had made working for the Prince.

He did not smile as much as he might have done, and there was no hint of laughter, but as she watched Merlin flit about the fair Gwen had a feeling that her friend was back, if somewhat diluted by what had occurred. They had stopped in front of a perfume stall and, with Merlin standing a good three feet away after an accident involving an angry potter, Gwen glance at her mistress and smiled encouragingly. Morgana glanced over Gwen at the boy and returned the smile, glad that between them they had managed to get him smiling again, though she acknowledged that Gwen held most of the credit.

Fingering another of the elegant glass bottles and tipping a minute amount onto her wrist, Morgana turned to her servant and friend. "How about this? Too strong?" The scent was certainly heady and rich and both women knew it would last practically forever. Gwen shook her head slowly, imagining the possible situations. She knew her mistress turned heads naturally, and she could only imagine the perfume complementing that aspect of Morgana. The money was handed over without a care despite the extortionate price asked and the small bottle was transferred to the basket on Gwen's arm as she gaped at the expense.

She herself had fallen head over heels for a pure flowery fragrance in a small blue bottle which, though only a fraction of the price was still too much for the orphan and she had picked up and regretfully replaced four times, each time tracing the complex patterns drawn on the glass. Morgana had been about to buy it as a final gesture to re-cement their friendship when Merlin, tiptoeing around the fragile exhibition, emptied his purse into the seller's hands, and having received very little change, clasped the bottle as carefully as if it contained the water of life, and considering he had done just that, it was saying something.

In the noise of the fair there was no point in yelling thanks and excuses to each other and so Gwen merely reached out and squeezed Merlin's hand in gratitude and was enchanted by the answering blush that spread across his cheeks. Morgana too would have smiled but inside her mind she felt something tug from behind and turned, eyes wide and her good mood slipping somewhat.

Her attention was immediately caught by a sodden figure. The man was dripping, his only dry clothing a large green cloaked hood that was pulled up to cover his face and from the way he shoved through the crowd it was clear he was in a black mood. Morgana turned to Merlin and Gwen instinctively, glad to see that the accident prone boy was far from the man's pathway, still blushing as Gwen beamed at him gratefully. Her sigh of relief had only just left her when he spotted something on the other side of the thoroughfare and with a single word of explanation, darted across.

Time seemed to slow for the Seer as Gwen looked upon her horrified face uncomprehendingly. Morgana saw in an instant that the accident could not be avoided, some part of her powers confirming that every action was useless even as she started forwards and her blood froze in her veins as she recognised the stomp of the soaking man. Her cry of warning came too late as Gwen too turned and saw the danger, though only part of it. Both women's word shrank to the two of them and the two men about to collide.

When it happened it was rougher than either could of expected. In the crush of people Merlin couldn't stagger away and instead fell heavily to the floor, his foul mood returning as he hit the dirt. The bottle of perfume went flying and Morgana crossed her fingers praying that no one other than her had noticed that instead of smashing it merely bounced and settled under a butcher's stall – it amazed her that Merlin could do such things whilst being so preoccupied and no one noticed. Merlin's fall was awkward as his wrist twisted under him and he cursed with pain.

The other man reeled back too, not so much from the force of the collision at the shock of knocking someone down. When he saw and recognised who it was he jolted back even further and the hood fell. Gwen and anyone else who was looking saw what Morgana had known – Merlin's assailant was none other than Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot. His face was shocked and pale and very, very wet as he looked down disbelieving at his ex-manservant. Merlin did not remain on the ground for very long though.

Standing again, Merlin showed no surprise when Arthur was revealed; it seemed only natural to him that the one person to ruin his day would be Arthur and that by being Arthur he would have to ruin the day. Still, Merlin reasoned, that didn't mean he had to take it lying down. Surging forward as far as he could in the crowded space and finding there was not enough space to swing a blow, Merlin shoved his former employer in the chest as hard as he could. He didn't use magic this time, but Arthur still seemed dazed by the whole affair and staggered backwards against the butcher's stall.

Everyone heard the small glass bottle smash under the prince's foot as quiet fell on the fair. Even the music faded as word spread almost instantly. A clearing formed about the two as residents remembered the entertainment the last clash between the two had caused and visitors joined in the sick amazement. Whispers shot through the crowd about who they were and dreadful rumours began with reckless abandon. Now there was certainly room for blows to be exchanged, the crowd had made sure of that, but both men stayed deadly still, staring at each other.

Using every dirty trick in their repertoire, including flirtation, biting, kicking and shoving, the two women made it through the crowd to diffuse the situation. Gwen flew to Merlin and began to tug hard at his arm, but despite her managing to make him move a few steps to the left, she couldn't break the furious stare he was giving Arthur. Morgana had more luck, standing directly in front of the Prince and with a gentle touch on his arm jerking him out of his stupor. She linked her arm with his and with a long look at Gwen, led him away from the circle without a word.

Merlin's eyes followed the man as he left and for the first time he recognised the perverse contradicting wants that collided in him – he wanted to put as much space between him and the Prince as much as possible and yet also wanted to beat the living crap out of him. In his anger, Merlin did not see that the latter was probably impossible unless he used magic, and that was too unethical to be contemplated. As his heartbeat slowed and the crowd began to return to their bargaining, Gwen's voice finally got through.

"Merlin, come on, let's go. Please, Merlin."

"Your perfume-"

"It doesn't matter. Merlin, come on, we can go see the dancers."

"But he… he-"

"_Merlin_."

But Merlin's bad mood had resurfaced, partly from events and partly from his stubborn adherence to his decision that Arthur had ruined his day and there was no more fun to be had at the fair. Not even his guilt at diminishing Gwen's fun could jerk him out of the darkness that surrounded him. Soon enough he was back at Gaius', back at the bench and back at string a hole in the wall.

Hours later, hearing a slight noise Merlin went to the door. Opening it he discovered a purse of gold, a more than ample reimbursement for the bottle. Unfortunately, Merlin didn't see it that way, his mind springing to the rather unpleasant idea of payment. Viciously Merlin kicked the bag down the stairs, watching it spill its precious contents with a satisfied and entirely un-Merlin-like smirk before stalking back inside. Ten minutes later Gaius entered and Merlin wordlessly moved to his bedroom, too angry for any questions. Gaius placed the refilled purse on the bench and decided to place the gold in the small box Merlin kept his savings in under his bed before reminding the boy to get a better hiding place.

That night the Dragon called again. Merlin went.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN!**

Well, more like

dun…… dun………………dun

But still! Hey! Still here? What'd you think? Review?

The next chapter will contain the Dragon! Never say never in the Merlin universe. And Arthur will start the first of many lessons from Morgana and Gwen.


	6. Lessons in Destiny

Erm, so yeah. I had this terrific five day streak and then I went and waited, um, two months to write the next chapter. I blame Drama AS. Took over my life. Really, I still think I'm a six year old Chinese Concubine. I apologise sincerely. Of course, for all of you who reviewed in the last couple of weeks, this seems like a quick update, so keep thinking that. Really, really sorry. Especially since I didn't particularly like this chapter… Maybe I shouldn't have said that.

Still, 4,500 hits. I must be doing something right.

Title: The Art of Seduction (as taught by Gwen and Morgana)

Chapter Title: Lessons in Destiny

Rating: T for Slash Dragon, and suspense.

Summary: Merlin visits our favourite magical creature, Arthur gets a drumming from Morgana and Gwen is fully integrated into the teaching process.

* * *

Merlin had spent the first part of the night reading his spell book with a passion that was seldom ignited in the warlock instead of trying to sleep. From the moment he had returned to his room Merlin had known the dragon would call and that he would give in, at last, and answer. The boy was not usually so fickle, but now he was faced with a bigger annoyance (Arthur was not an enemy. Not yet) he found it easy to if not forgive, then forget the dragon's sins.

The fair, subdued after the incident with the prince, died down quickly as if to prepare with new vigour for the final day in the morrow. The last day of the May fair was a famed event throughout Albion and there was a feast to be held, so many celebrators had thought it practical to at the very least get a few hours sleep the night before. Still, it was midnight before the last drunkard gave up trying to rouse the partyand staggered to the gutter for sleep. In the first instant of true silence, the dragon roared.

The steps down to the dragon had gathered dust in the time it had taken Merlin to return. His torch flickered on the familiar stones as his hand guided him along the wall. He had no need of it – he could have walked the way in his sleep and had pretty much done so many times. No, his hand was there to keep him there. Merlin had an idea that if he let go of the wall, even for an instant, he would lose his resolve and run back to his room, and he simply couldn't do that. Merlin desperately needed to check his destiny.

Had the young warlock been able to step back from his emotions and see the situation as it was, he might have recognised the absurdity of visiting the Dragon, who had allowed, even wanted his mother's death, over such a trivial matter. But then Merlin could not see it as trivial, or would not, and for that reason it seemed to warrant a trip to Camelot's most awful secret.

Merlin shivered as he approached the mouth of the cave. It was cold and the smell of ancient magic hung in the air as a stale reminder of his promise. So much for never seeing him again. The memory of his anger, now old and faded, mingled with the fury that stirred his blood now. Anger had sent him away from the place and anger brought him back. It seemed fitting. Still, even all that anger could not hold back the wave of shame that rolled slowly over Merlin as he stepped out onto the ledge, his torch held misleadingly high. He looked the picture of confidence. He wasn't.

There was a massive beating of wings and then it was there, before him, as if no time had passed, and yet the time was there, written into both of the magical powers in the cave. The dragon's head seemed more lined, his wings paler and thinner - the creature, though still magnificent and terrifying looked less substantial, less real. Merlin was not to know that this was how the dragon had been before his time, weakened by the ignorance and lack of magic above. The creature looked _old._

It was a testament to Merlin's being that even in the midst of his anger his heart twinged with pity and guilt at the sight of the dragon brought even slightly lower in standing through his own actions. Still, he thrust out his torch into the darkness and trying to ignore the giant shadows that swung across the space, practically imbued with life by the magic that hung in the air, he spoke, his voice wavering only slightly as he tried to remember he was a master of the magic of life and death. Funny, in the faceoff such giant teeth it wasn't that helpful.

"I need answers!"

A deep chuckle filled the cavern as the dragon turned his head to one side and gazing at Merlin fully through one eye and answered "I suggest you ask questions, young warlock." Merlin could have sworn the creature was grinning at him. "What is it you want to know?"

Merlin swallowed and tried to from his words as he realised he had no idea what he wanted to ask. Why seemed a little too vague and wide and his mind was now revolving around that particular concept. Why had he bothered to help Arthur when the prat hadn't changed? Why had he done what he had? Why was Merlin's world now the wrong way up? Eventually he choked up the courage to speak.

"Was it all lies? All that about my destiny? About Albion?"

The dragon looked at him strangely and Merlin felt like he was being pitied. "Little warlock, I have never lied to you."

"You did not tell me my mother would die! You did not tell me you made me her murderer!" The torch in Merlin's hand spurted flame in his anger and the dragon reared back, flame bursting from it's nostrils in its own offence. Neither meant to hurt the other and neither did, but both showed their willingness to do so and Merlin was reminded how dangerous his relationship with the magical world was.

The dragon resettled itself, looking smug. "That did not come to pass, Merlin. There were no lies told. Your destiny is as it ever was. From you and Arthur will come a united Albion." The dragon intoned the last sentence with an authority that made Merlin cringe, and his anger faded to the disgust, fear and hurt that filled his belly and had done so for two days.

"I can't. I can't do it anymore. It can't be me. You have it wrong." Merlin's voice cracked painfully with emotion as he protested and in her sleep, Morgana began to cry.

"There is no right or wrong, only what is and what is not," came the reply, though now it sounded sympathetic. The pain that throbbed from Merlin, even if he didn't realise it, had penetrated the dragon's mind, which was unsurprising in itself, since the creature was so sensitive to the warlock. Still, he didn't normally pay heed to the pain. Since the episode with Hunith, it was beginning to relearn the importance of compassion in dealing with humans. Still, it couldn't resist speaking its usual prophetic lines. "You and Arthur are two sides of-"

"NO! We are not connect-"

"You and the Prince are the torch and flame to light Albion!" The dragon roared, annoyed at being interrupted. "Without the flame, the torch is worthless, useless."

"I'll show you worthless! I'm not useless. I can change life and death!" It was the first time Merlin had admitted it out loud and the raw power of the statement shocked him. Silence hung about the two for a moment before the dragon exhaled loudly and bent its head in a gesture of submission. Merlin turned to go, but as usual, he was not to have the last word.

"You are not the torch, warlock. Only you can give Arthur purpose. No one can choose their destiny, or deny it. You must not do so, not in the days to come. You will stand by him, to save the Albion we must have."

"See, I don't believe you. Maybe it would help you out, but I can't think of an Albion where that's a good thing." Merlin's anger flooded back to him, thick and bitter with time. It had festered too long without a proper release, other than exploding jars and that unfortunate shove. This time when Merlin turned to leave he didn't look back.

"You cannot deny your destiny! MERLIN!"

The warlock kept going, stony faced, replying quietly to the roars that followed him. "Watch me."

"MERLIN! You must stand by him! Danger enters Camelot, you must stand by Arthur! MERLIN! **MERLIN!"**

* * *

Morgana woke in a cold sweat, the dragon's warnings filling her mind with images, some true some false, and she couldn't tell which was which. Some ran with blood, others with Arthur pale as death, others screamed with agony and others sang with a bittersweet victory over the Pendragons. These were her worst dreams, the ones which left her with no more than a swift falling dread that she couldn't shake. These dreams were her curse.

She lay in the dark for a few moments, blinking away tears she couldn't remember shedding, as her dream-memories were ripped from her, leaving her with only the vaguest sense of Merlin's power and no recollection of a creature dwelling beneath her feet. Morgana knew she forgot many of her dreams, but she did not pry into her own mind. Tales of Seers torn apart by insanity learned at Uther's knee as a parable on the consequences of magic filled her with fear.

Gwen entered the room with a bustle that shook her mistress from her morose thoughts and brought her back to the matter at hand. As Gwen helped her into one of her day gowns Morgana smiled at her servant. "I was thinking of visiting Arthur today. I intend to instruct him on the finer points of why he is a complete prat."

Gwen's returned smile was smaller than it might otherwise have been had the memory of the previous day's disappointments not lingered. Morgana noticed the change and took a deep breath. "I was hoping you might accompany me. Your opinions would be most useful and I'm sure your honesty and frankness would be very helpful."

The serving girl looked up, clearly confused, before she shook her head slowly. "I fear that have already let my tongue be too loose in this matter already. You are Arthur's friend, not me. I should stay with Merlin." She tied the last of the strings on the gown firmly before they were yanked from her fingers as Morgana turned and clasped her hands.

"Gwen, Arthur values you as a friend as much as I do." Perhaps this was not as true as it could have been, should have been, but Morgana shrugged off any scruples and continued. "Your words have a greater effect upon Arthur than you realise. And he is in no position to object to any judgement, particularly yours. Gwen," Morgana paused, her large eyes wide and wet, pleading with her friend, "I can't do this by myself. Merlin is the only person I've known to change Arthur so much in so little time. I need a miracle to change Arthur enough to get Merlin back. I need you."

Gwen's smile was wide this time. "Oh, save it for Percival. I'll help." Morgana actually giggled like a little girl as she moved away to get her hairbrush. She didn't like being so transparent, but Gwen had always been able to tell where her fancies lay, even before Morgana did herself, and she couldn't deny Percival had caught her attention, if through rather unorthodox means. Giggling again, she glanced at Gwen and tried to find the strength to scold the impudent but lovable girl.

She failed miserably.

* * *

Arthur was still in bed when the two women entered his chambers, Morgana striding confidently without even bothering to knock, Gwen more timidly now that she no longer had a fury born of loyalty to hold back her natural deference to the royals. Her confidence was damaged even further when Arthur, expecting some servant boy he could send back petulantly, rolled over to reveal that he was wearing very little aside from his pendant. The desperate scramble that ensued when the Prince actually opened his eyes had Morgana in hysterics and Gwen firmly facing the doors as her cheeks burned.

By the time Arthur had stopped alternately apologising and cursing and pulled on a long nightshirt and Morgana had calmed down enough to breathe, Gwen felt it was time to get down to business. Catching Morgana's eye and receiving a reassuring nod, she turned and, pulling up a chair, gave Arthur a long, hard look. Slightly unnerved, the prince turned to Morgana to find that she was giving him the same disapproving glare.

"What?"

"Are you going to explain what happened yesterday?" Morgana began the questioning, folding her arms and taking a seat next to Gwen so that both women sat near the foot of the bed opposite the king-in-waiting.

"You mean the market? That was an accident, I swear. And he pushed me. Again. Honestly, Morgs, I don't know why I'm bothering-"

"Yes you do," Morgana said sharply, subtly gesturing towards Gwen with her eyes. Arthur got the message and shut up as Gwen's glare intensified a little. He felt like he was going to burst into flames where he sat. "He does, Gwen. You have to believe me-"

"She has to believe me, Morgana," Arthur interrupted, sounding every inch the prince he hoped he might be. "I do. Know why I'm bothering, that is. I'm bothering because-" It got difficult to continue, as years of pride and pratishness got in the way. "Because it's Merlin. Because I care for Merlin." Gwen gave a little gasp – hearing it from Arthur was different from Morgana – and Arthur knew he'd done his part in convincing her he was redeemable. If only it was that easy with Merlin.

"Thank you, Arthur, but if you could get back to explaining why you weren't where you said you'd be?" Morgana was clearly not about to let off Arthur lightly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You said you were going hunting!"

"I did!"

Morgana was not impressed. "You said you were going for the whole day. Instead you come back halfway through the day, dripping wet, in a foul mood, and you attack Merlin! Who, may I remind you, already thinks you have absolutely no respect for him." For too long she'd been bottling up her annoyances in an attempt to be kinder to her friend, and even where she'd been critical, she'd softened her blows. Now her irritation seized a trivial point and blew it out of proportion.

Arthur could only respond in kind. "So now you want to know where I am at all times of the day? Morgana, you are ridiculous and unreasonable!"

"WHAT?! _I'm _unreasonable? I didn't assault someone I was trying to woo-" Gwen recognised the clear signs of two members of the royal family getting royally pissed off and she stood up, clearing her throat. Unfortunately, the two were already too involved in their fight to notice.

"No, you just flirted outrageously with a junior knight while returning his trousers! Oh yes, I HEARD about THAT, Morgana."

"I DON'T know why I'm helping YOU, Arthur!"

"CHILDREN!" Both startled argumentative royals turned to Gwen like rabbits. Clearing her throat again and smoothing down her dress, Gwen coloured slightly but resolved to get the two back on the subject at hand as long as she had their attention. "I'm so sorry, Sire, but I think we should focus on what really matters." Silently she added 'rather than your giant egos,' before being surprised by her own cynicism. "Clearly you're both quite upset but you need to understand we need to know where you are so we can make sure that Merlin isn't there. Do you understand?"

"No. Why should Merlin avoid me?" The Prince was frowning, clearly confused and though Morgana was still steaming next to her, Gwen felt pity in her heart. Glancing at her friend's far to open face, Morgana sighed and gave up her anger to pity as well.

"Arthur, you two can't be in the same room, not until Merlin's calmed down. Yesterday must have proved that to you." The Prince crumpled under the realisation of exactly how long this was going to take. Morgana moved to him and Gwen hesitantly followed. "Arthur, don't worry. It serves another purpose too. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or at the very least, less angry." Morgana accompanied her words with an encouraging smile. "So, as long as you don't do anything stupid, Merlin will be back here soon enough."

The moment seemed perfect and full of hope, as Arthur smiled, then realised what a girl he was being and shrugged off Morgana's kind hand in a manly but friendly way. However, Gwen stepped back suddenly and gave a slight cough. "On that subject, well- Sire, Gaius told me that he found a purse of money on his steps last evening. He assumed it was from you, Sire. Was he right?" Arthur nodded slowly and Morgana groaned, burying her face in his pillow.

Her muffled words made her annoyance clear. "Did we not have a talk about whores, Arthur?" Gwen tried to ignore her mistress's words, confused and worried by them, but they clearly meant something to Arthur, who paled and muttered some profanity that once again Gwen's innocent ears tried to forget quickly. A quiet 'oh' was the only sound for a few minutes as Gwen realised what the suggestion meant and all three contemplated the implications of Arthur's most recent idiotic action.

Eventually Morgana gave up the task, sick of the narrowing odds Arthur was faced with, and turned to him. "I think we all need some cheering up. So, what stopped your hunting trip so abruptly?" Gwen turned to face Arthur too, her face a picture of eager anticipation stirred up by the prospect of entertainment after far too depressing thoughts.

"What makes you think it was amusing?"

"You ended up wet and in a foul mood. How could it not be?"

Arthur harrumphed but after a moment began. The tale, which involved Arthur riding a lot too fast and ended with his being bucked into Camelot's lake and losing the horse in the process had the two girls in stitches, rolling about on his bed in a manner highly inappropriate for a lady of breeding and a well mannered servant. Indeed, when Arthur's replacement serving boy did arrive, he fled at the sight of the three laughing together after Arthur himself was cajoled into guffawing.

Arthur decided he was right to leave out why he was going to fast, not knowing that the girls had guessed, and guessed correctly. It seemed to be the only answer.

Merlin.

* * *

Gwen was still recovering from the laughter, one hand pressed to her side, when she met Merlin on the stairs. She had worried about him since leaving the Prince's quarters, feeling undeniably guilty at having strayed into what felt like enemy territory. Still, the look on her face when she saw him was one of joy and hope. She had hope now: that Merlin could feel better, that Arthur could be better and that somehow, normality or better would be restored to Camelot.

Her good mood invigorated Merlin the moment he saw her and he couldn't help smiling at her. "Gwen! I'm going to the fair – Gaius said he didn't need me breaking his bottles today, and it turns out I had more savings than I thought. Do you want to come?"

The servant's eyes widened slightly as she realised she'd have to talk Merlin out of his idea. It was horribly unfair. Together she, Morgana and Arthur had decided that while Merlin was working for Gaius it would be safe for Arthur to go to the fair, and he'd already set off to start his princely patrolling. It was only fitting for the royal to visit the fair to make a silent apology for disturbing it the previous day, and to give his patronage to the most worthy stalls.

But Gwen hadn't seen her friend so happy in days, and she was loathe to ruin Merlin's good mood by telling him not to go or worse, mentioning Arthur. She felt torn in her desire to help the Prince and to help her friend get over what the undeniable berk had done.

"Merlin, I'm not sure, I mean, I'm tired and…" Gwen trailed off as Merlin turned large blue eyes to her with an almost desperate look. Loyalty to Merlin won out and she smiled and nodded, taking his arm in a mock of the nobility strolling down to the fair. Still, she reasoned, she had made no promise to Arthur directly, and the fair was large. What was the likelihood of them meeting Arthur again? She could drag Merlin out of his way.

The two skipped out together like children, hand in hand.

* * *

Up in her room, Morgana reflected on her conversation with Arthur as she prepared to go out into the fair again. The quiet of the room was barely interrupted by the mumbling of the fair as Camelot celebrated the final hours of the May Fair. Gwen had forgotten to return to her mistress, instead rushing off to find Merlin, but Morgana was in no mood for chiding anyone other than Arthur. She moved to the window, brushing her hair contemplatively. For a moment she glimpsed Arthur, striding magisterially through the marketplace. Morgana's hand paused in its task as she spotted Gwen and Merlin scarcely two feet away at a stall. Both parties seemed oblivious of the other but it was still enough to make the lady's heart beat slightly faster.

But what she saw next made it stop.

* * *

Look at that! CLIFFIE! I never do cliffies!

Something didn't quite feel right when I wrote it. Did it seem off to you? Not awful (I hope) but off? Maybe I'm imagining it. Review and tell me? There are a bunch of you on alert, so you must have an opinion.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to make random suggestions. I only have the next couple of chapters planned out, so all ideas are welcome!

Next week: Arthur and Merlin are both at the fair, along with mysterious third person spotter my Morgs. It was never going to be uneventful.


	7. A Brush with Magic

TRA LA LA! Spring is here, and with it another chapter! Also, I've now had over 7,000 hits to this story and 76 (YES, 76!) people are on author alert, so at least 76 people with know I've updated. Wouldn't it be amazing if that many people reviewed? (Hint. Hint. HINT!)

But, on a more realistic note, sorry it has taken so long. But there is lots of drama in this chapter, so hopefully that makes up for it. This chapter is somewhat light on Arthur but there's loads of Merlin and plenty of Morgana and Gwen.

Title: The Art of Seduction (As taught by Morgana and Gwen)

Chapter Title: A Brush with Magic

Rating: T for blood spattering and omgsqueeawkwardmistunderstandingness and for that dreaded swear word again. Shocking.

Summary: Last Chapter's cliffie is resolved, Morgana's suspicions are confirmed and Arthur makes yet another mistake. Oh, and someone dies.

* * *

The seconds slowed.

She recognised him, of course. How could she not, when that whole episode of her life was emblazoned on her soul, a mark of shame there for all eternity? One of Tauren's men was in the crowd, perfectly blended with the rest, his face partially covered by a large worn hood, but Morgana recognised him immediately. Something inside her -not magic, it couldn't be magic- pulled her eyes to him, and half a beat later she understood as he turned and met her gaze fully, his cruel mouth stretching into a grin that made her bones shudder, lifting the Maidstone from his pocket, its eerie glow unnoticed by those around him.

The mother of pearl handled brush fell from her finger as she stared, spinning lazily through the air towards the cobblestones below, but nobody noticed. All too late Morgana remembered her vision, the dream that had faded that morning returning as it was enacted in front of her and though her mind raced to the end, wanting and fearing to know what happened in equal measure, she was based solely in the moment and could not find it. The man, a sly vicious brute that had haunted Morgana's dreams for weeks after her mistaken attempt to destroy her family, held her gaze for a moment longer, his blackened teeth in a snarl, then Nothing.

Nothing surrounded Morgana, oppressive, suffocating. The air around her rippled with the thickness of it. She could not move, could not hear, couldn't _breathe _and her vision narrowed to just the man and Arthur, because Arthur was his target, she knew it, even if the prince had no idea. Arthur had already missed Merlin, supposedly the man he cared for, he wasn't going to spot the warlock trying to kill him. There was no time to scream, even if her throat had not been clogged with Nothing. Her fingers clasped the stone ledge, knuckles white and tips bleeding, but she could not feel it as her eyes desperately swept the market, trying to avoid watching Arthur walking to his death.

She had never loved him more than then, her heart swelling with love for her friend as Morgana tried to scream or cry or throw herself from the window, anything to stop the death she could not prevent. A rumble rolled through her, but there was nothing the Dragon could do when Morgana could not remember him, and so he too strove to shout and roar.

The man – his name was Vorben, she remembered, her mind whirring as her body froze, Vorben, hissed in her ear like a spell and an oath – turned towards Arthur who was past him now and moving away. The Maidstone glowed as it was raised above his head and now faces turned but it was too late, far too late. Vorben took one step, fixing his aim, and the world grew even slower as someone started the 's' of 'sorcerer' and Morgana wanted to scream and scream at them all for not noticing, for not caring, for being drunk and happy and gay when this was happening, for not being Uther and for allowing her to be their lady, for this was all her fault for killing Tauren. Even though she could not see them, could not see anyone but Vorben and Arthur, she hated and loved and grieved for the people of Camelot, as she stood frozen in place at her window.

Then something moved like a blur across the slowed street. A crate weaved like lightening through the revellers, unnoticed by any, and a third person shone in Morgana's vision as Merlin, hand outstretched, guided the speeding box like an arrow to rest in front of Vorben, who looked slow in comparison to the glowing boy and his magic. Vorben took another step and tripped, almost comically, falling onto the cobbles at full speed as the world returned to Morgana.

Cries of sorcerer rang out and colours flooded to her as Morgana sagged against the window in relief, laughing and crying and half in awe at the wonder of it all. The market was full of people again, bustling and shouting and holding Vorben, beating him as Arthur turned and strode back flint-eyed to the man who had almost been his killer, still oblivious to Merlin's presence in the crowd. For a moment Morgana merely enjoyed the tremendous feeling of freedom and life that flowed from the marketplace before her eyes slipped away again, searching for the boy who was no boy at all, she knew for certain now.

The young warlock had slipped away from the scene of hatred and was now making his way up the staircase to the castle's main entrance, briefly looking up at Morgana and away again when he caught her eye. Even from her window Morgana could see the dying glow Merlin's eyes had contained and it awed her. The cries of the marketplace reached her again as Merlin slipped between the doors, deceptively skinny, and as the calls for death and execution filled her ears, Morgana realised just how hard the task she had taken on would be.

"Still," she murmured to an imaginary Arthur as she moved at last away from her window-prison, "at least we know he doesn't want you dead."

No one seemed to realise how close their prince had come to death. The Maidstone, dropped by its holder in the fall, lay forgotten beneath a cart.

* * *

Having lost her friend at some point during the disturbance and the crowds that had followed it, Gwen only caught up with Merlin in the courtyard later, when the discarded bottle and remains of the fair were being packed up in that hour between three and four when no one feels like doing anything. Instead of lasting the whole night, the revels had ended abruptly with the arrest of the assassin, though many were rather morbidly hoping for an execution.

Merlin was hovering behind a stubborn cart and donkey and as the contraption moved away Gwen watched her friend hurriedly search the mated straw that had been underneath it only to come up empty handed. Running over she attempted to be helpful. "Lose something?"

Merlin didn't look at her when he replied in a distracted tone, still searching among some of the crates near the northern gate. "Yes, um, my, um, red scarf." Gwen missed the lie. As if he'd only just realised it was missing (which was actually true), Merlin stood upright and ran a hand over the unusually bare patch of his neck that felt oddly vulnerable without his neckerchief.

"Oh, no, Merlin, I have it." Gwen smiled at him, relieved it was something so little, before she remembered why she had it. After three washings the wine stains still hadn't left the material and Gwen hadn't wanted to return the scarf when it had any reminders of how he'd lost it, even if Merlin didn't remember himself how it came to be lost.

"You do?" Merlin looked puzzled, and Gwen's heart ached a little.

"Yes. You left- It was taken- I found it. A few days ago." She paused, but saw Merlin was about to ask the inevitable question and rushed on. "In Arthur's rooms."

"Oh." Gwen watched her friend cautiously, afraid that after all her hard work, all her comforting and company, the anger would return. She could see the emotions seething in her friend in everything about him, from the way he refused to look at her to his raised shoulders to the slight shaking of his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was as hard as Arthur's eyes. "I don't think I need it back, do yo-"

But Merlin was cut off by a loud fanfare erupting from the balcony of the castle. Both young servants turned to see Uther striding out, flanked by Arthur and Morgana. Even though Gwen knew what was coming she couldn't help thinking they looked like a team of angels, with Arthur's golden youth, Morgana's other-worldly beauty and the king's magisterial age. It was moments like this, as she craned her neck to glimpse the royals, so distanced from the people she knew as friends, which made her feel her peasant roots most soundly. She could never be like them, she was reminded, never a queen like them.

The king's voice, harsh as a sword stroke, silenced any bustle in the courtyard and the streets beyond as all of Camelot, it seemed, turned to hear what they all had been anticipating, whether with fear, delight or ambivalence. Everyone's tongues except for Gwen and Merlin's had been full of execution.

"It is declared that the sorcerer Vorben, tried justly and fairly by our court this very day, has been found guilty of treason against our Crown, attempting to murder the Crown Prince, our dear son, and use of sorcery as is expressly forbidden by us in our lands. It is therefore decreed that this traitor shall be executed before sunset this same day before us and the people of Camelot as punishment for his crimes. God save Camelot and all her people." Uther spoke with a steely hate that suggested it was more the magic than the threat to his son that had him worried, and many would g on to say so in doorways and pubs that night, but Gwen, with her motherly heart and soul of compassion heard a tremble and saw a firm hand grip a young man's shoulder in a way that could be nothing other than fatherly.

With a wince Gwen reminded herself that these men had killed her father and that however much she might care for the prince, it was Uther's hatred of magic that had killed Tom. Even now Vorben might be innocent, mistaken, not destined for death. But the bitterness that should have been there had been screamed and sobbed away long ago, in front of a gravestone on unhallowed ground. Gwen had invested all her hopes in Arthur and tried to ignore Uther as best she could – as her father would have wanted, she told herself, though she had no idea. He wasn't here to tell her.

The answering cry of "God save the King," died into excited whisperings and plans about the imminent execution as peasants tried to remember what time sunset was that night and the one farmer who knew became an irritating drunk in lying about the answer. Gwen turned back from the scene above her to find her friend was pale and staring at the floor. Gwen was convinced he hadn't looked up once for fear of seeing his old master, but that wasn't enough for his ashen face. Naturally, instinctively, she reached out to touch him but he shied away like a startled horse. With an apologetic glance backwards Merlin shot into the castle. Gwen doubted she'd see him again before the execution. He got so rattled by them.

* * *

Gwen was wrong. A little before seven as the sun slung low in the sky, Merlin joined the crowd that thronged in the courtyard before the small platform. Both Gwen and Morgana watched the young warlock move to the front of the crowd, almost invisible thanks to his bent posture and bowed head, Gwen from the fringe of the crowd where she leant against the eastern wall, Morgana from her seat beside the throne having been alerted to his presence by a strange choking noise from Arthur.

The Prince had blanched, the ager he felt at being nearly assassinated on his home turf disappearing from his face for a moment as Morgana watched his fingers tighten on the chair and followed his gaze down to the young man moving towards the platform. Uther hadn't joined them yet so she had reached out a comforting hand to her friend and been surprised when he gripped it tightly. Never had she known Arthur to be so publically weak, so inconsiderate of his own reputation and appearance in seeking comfort. Then again, the Prince hadn't had the easiest of days. Morgana had worried for a moment that another betrothal rumour would start before she realised all attention was focussed on the platform and the coming death. Sometimes, even when she herself wanted the execution, the people of Camelot seemed repugnant to her.

Together they watched Merlin with Gwen, though Arthur soon looked away, embarrassed or angry Morgana couldn't tell, and instead focussed on the gateway that led to the dungeons. Morgana did not begrudge him his revenge - Vorben was the guiltiest of all the sorcerers tried after the Purge - but she knew the people of Camelot must have been surprised to see her here, presiding over an execution of a sorcerer, an event she normally boycotted. Her repeated absence had not gone unnoticed, though the lady was sure that no one below would dare suggest the King's ward had any other interest in the matter than merely the ethics of slaughtering magic users. Such was the fear of Uther's wrath, and the goodwill of the people towards the young royals.

A double fanfare blasted through the air as Uther came to claim his throne and the royals' hands scuttled back to their respective laps almost guiltily. As Uther divided them, spreading his cloak as he sat to disguise the fact that there was now more royal person than some years, before the prisoner Vorben was led out. The man's face was testament enough to the popularity of Arthur, black and bloodied to the point where it might have been another man they were about to execute. He cradled one arm in another and could barely walk, but while Gwen at the side with her lingering resentment of Arthur felt a slight pity for the traitor, Morgana could only feel that this man deserved all he got, a strange reversal for the patriotic servant and the stubborn, objection-filled lady.

Still, it was not Vorben either of the women were interested in, but Merlin. He was still pale as his eyes followed the condemned man up onto the platform and held his gaze. Even though it shouldn't have been possible, Morgana could have sworn that Merlin gulped when Vorben met his eyes, though he stayed where he was as the man was forced to his knees right in front of the boy.

Gwen moved closer, in spite of herself, trying to get to Merlin, as Uther stood to make his final speech to the traitor. "Prisoner, you have been found guilty of crimes against our crown and person, and thus condemned to death. Do you at this final hour seek reconciliation with your God and with your king? Renounce sorcery and you may still ensure your soul a chance."

Vorben's cracked and bloodied face slowly moved into and awful toothless grin, but Gwen could see as she shoved her way towards her friend that he didn't break his gaze with Merlin as he sat out of the side of his mouth onto the platform in answer to Uther. The crowd roared, half in admiration half in triumph at the knowledge that here was a man damned, about to be sent to hell. This execution had no need for ethics or subtlety – the man was a stranger to Camelot, an invader, and no scruples were needed for imminent widows or orphans in the crowd. This was not one of their own.

"Very well," Uther replied, seemingly casual as he moved to sit again, but Morgana felt the tension that radiated from the offended king. Magic had no place in Camelot for Uther, but the new religion seemed harsh and cold under his grip. No prisoner to date had relinquished magic in favour of it.

Vorben was forced to his knees before the block by the guards, still grinning and staring at Merlin who returned the stare, stony faced. Morgana leaned forwards in her seat, looking to the crowd like some bloodthirsty avenging angel, though they loved her no less for it, as she strained to see Merlin's face.

Morgana had watched Merlin at other executions he had been forced to attend as Arthur's manservant, watched him look away, watched him retch and even watched his private moments of panic which the events of that very afternoon had explained in full. Merlin did not like executions and like Gwen, avoided them when he could. He did not stand in the prime place, did not watch the condemned without pity. Unless...

Morgana gasped as the axe was raised, and Uther dismissed it as excitement, not hearing her fervent whisper to herself as he leaned back towards his son. "Oh, Merlin, how many have you killed for him?" She could see it now in the young man's face – _he_ was judge, jury and executioner, not the king and court beside her or the hooded brute on the platform, and it did not sit well with a young boy from a small village who had tried to befriend Arthur and stuck with him, against all the odds. Well, some of the odds. Merlin was not the type born to kill.

The axe came down with a thud and both women saw Merlin mouth a silent apology. Gwen was confused by it, until she came to the rationale that Merlin was apologising upon the behalf of the crowd for the way they had bayed for Vorben's blood. It seemed plausible, and Gwen was grateful that Merlin seemed back to his old, self-sacrificing self again. Morgana too was confused, but only because she prayed with all her heart Merlin had not meant his apology, for if he had then it could only mean Merlin wished he had not saved Arthur. It worried the lady that there was a possibility of this and she returned to her chambers with a brooding heart that Uther and Arthur put down to her dislike of executions.

As the crowd dissipated, disappointed by the lack of screams and pleading, or even the usual show of magic, Gwen caught up with her friend who still stood there, though now his bright eyes were shut. A splash of red dripped from the platform before him, perilously close to his shoes and as he opened his eyes and turned towards Gwen, taking the first breath in what seemed like minutes, Gwen was shocked to see bright red droplets spattered across his face, stark against his skin which was still a sickly pale that worried her almost more than the blood. For a brief moment it turned Merlin, her dearest gentlest friend into an animal.

"Merlin are you alright?" Gwen shook off the strange feeling and peered closer, relieved to see the Merlin she knew and loved behind his eyes. The boy gave a slight smile in reply and absent-mindedly Gwen began to wipe the blood from his face with her finger tips, leaving small tiger stripes on his skin a lot less threatening then the beacons of blood had been.

A stone fell to rattle on the platform, making such a clatter in the now practically deserted courtyard that the two friends sprang apart like guilty teenagers. Gwen craned up to see Arthur, looking equally surprised at the noise, standing still on the balcony and glaring at her, clearly refusing to look at Merlin. Moments before, she guessed, he had been leaning on the balcony rail, for a small part of the ornate carving was what now lay on the platform, soaking up the blood greedily. A second later and Arthur had turned and left, while Merlin stared defiantly after him.

"Why was he looking at me like that? What have I done, Merlin? Do you think..." And then Gwen realised, her innocent mind uncomfortable with the thought of her actions being so misconstrued. "Oh. Oh der. I really must tell him-"

"Don't." Merlin's voice has certain, but she knew he was really asking her, not ordering. "Why should he have to know anything about either of us? We're not his friends, or his servants, not anymore. And he should learn that there are things he can't have, and people I prize more than his crown."

"But Merlin, you don't like me... that way." Gwen blushed a little remembering the various times that point had been hammered home.

"But he thinks so." Gwen noticed that Merlin was refusing to use Arthur's name, after months of informality. "Look, I know him, and somewhere inside the bastard still thinks anyone, including me, anyone can be made to do what he wants. Can be made to want him. And I'm going to prove him wrong. Won't you help me?" Merlin's voice was pleading now, his eyes wide.

"I don't like lying, Merlin, you know I don't. No, I'm not going to budge." Gwen expected more pleading, but found she had underestimated her friend. Merlin merely grinned at her, nodded and with a murmur of apology took her arm and strolled with her back into the castle in a way that could only be seen as friendly.

Unless, of course, you were Arthur.

* * *

Morgana was preparing for bed alone, as Gwen was occupied laughing with Gaius and Merlin over a mug of ale as the two men always invited her back after an execution to take her mind off Tom. Her mind was turning over the events of the execution, nearly an hour before, and she was beginning to feel sick with herself for wanting the death of this man, a man she herself had been as bad as, a man she had joined with. The body still lay on the platform, disgraced, and she could see it from her window, though she had tried to obscure the view with the flowers sent by Sir Percival. Morgana was still fully dressed, consumed by her thoughts which, if they didn't whirl around her own sins, focussed on Merlin.

Merlin was a warlock. Merlin had probably protected Arthur with magic, saved Arthur with magic. It made sense. And even now, even today Merlin had saved Arthur with magic, had risked his own neck. Morgana was sure these could not be the actions of a man who truly hated Arthur. It was loyalty, loyalty of the utmost degree, and even though she knew people like Gwen and Merlin gave away the loyalty of their hearts and lives far more easily than she or Arthur could ever manage to, it made Merlin shine so much more in her eyes and gave her so much more hope for the possibilities of what she was striving to achieve it almost eclipsed the minor problem of Merlin being a traitor to the crown and executable ten times over.

And yet there was still the problem of the apology that attacked her mind whenever she became too hopeful. A knock at the door disturbed her as she once again began the cycle. Opening it, Morgana was pleasantly surprised to find Merlin hovering outsider her door.

"Er, M'lady, I, er, found this in the courtyard. I thought you might have dropped it." Morgana's mouth dropped open a little as he handed her the hairbrush she had dropped that afternoon. Running her hands over it she could find no crack or scar, though Morgana knew that it would have shattered into a thousand pieces if it hit the cobblestones. Either Merlin had fixed it, (and she could guess how) or it had never hit them at all (and again, she could guess why.) Merlin looked nervous, and if reading her thoughts, he blurted out, "It was lying on some straw." Morgana forgave the obvious lie with a smile.

"Thank you, Merlin," she said sweetly, smiling as inside she marvelled at the power of the unassuming boy in front of her. Merlin turned to go when she called him back and after a pause said, far more gravely, "Thank you." The warlock looked confused for a moment, but Morgana would not enlighten him. Then, moments after she had slipped back through the door she heard an intake of breath. Pressing an ear against the door she heard Merlin speak.

"Fuck."

'Fuck indeed' she thought as she heard his footsteps pad away, back to Gwen, Gaius and the ale. The situation would need careful handling. Morgana didn't want anyone, even Arthur, to get turned into a newt.

* * *

That's it folks, for this week at least. Review would be nice, flowers nicer. Tell me what you want, because I can try and work anything in (except purple dogs. No purple dogs.)

Next chapter: Much more Arthur, tad less Morgana (I just love her so much) and maybe some dancing. Oh, and a full Merlin panic attack/hangover.


	8. Merlin's Mistakes

So year thirteen is an evil invention, of evil, invented to prevent me writing. Fortunately, it is OVER. All I can do is grovel before you and give you the next chapter, promise solemnly to write the next one soon (university, how hard can it be?) and name my first born Merlin. I am really very sorry about this. Really.

Title: The Art of Seduction (As taught by Morgana and Gwen)

Chapter Title: Merlin's Mistakes

Rating: T... because all the others are rated T and I'm a stickler for conforming

Summary: Merlin makes a lot of mistakes, some minor, some major, and some which might give him some perspective. Arthur remains an idiot. Are we surprised?

* * *

Wednesday had been expected to dawn with the groans and grunts of hung-over and tired citizens forcing themselves to return to work or embark on the journey back to their hometowns after the three days of revelry and trade that Camelot's May Fair had brought. The sun, however brightly it shone, was to be cursed and reviled and hidden throughout the morning, for all its warmth, and the music of the final bards out for the last pennies which had entertained and entranced in the previous days was to be damned and derided as an discordant din in the harrowing hours that dogged the people of Camelot. It was meant to be, as it had always been, a day for foul tempers and grumpiness on behalf of the populace.

However, with the interruption and excitement of the assassination attempt upon Arthur (an event far less common than certain bards in the centuries that followed would insist) the end of the fair celebrations had been neglected and the banquet postponed. The result was a veritable lack of hangovers and for the first time in five hundred years there was a fourth day added to the ancient festival, a fact Uther seemed eager to stress, as though he had intentionally planned his own son's near-death (which, Morgana thought wryly, was almost possible, considering the surge in popularity and anti-magic sentiment that was already showing on the streets of Camelot.) The people had never been this happy on a day usually reserved for moaning about the wife and being late for work. The church was happy, as it gave them a chance to get more tithes, the merchants were happy to flog their wares some more after the evening's drop in trade, and the people were happy to miss work yet again.

Two people, however, seemed determined to keep the true spirit of 'Black Wednesday' alive, though had one known about the other he might have felt vaguely sick. Arthur and Merlin had both spent dreadful nights without sleep for very different reasons, and both had taken the situation differently.

Merlin had spent the start of the night alternately pacing the length of Gaius' workshop or downing whole tankards of ale in one gulp, to the be- and a- musement of Gwen and Gaius. Shortly after one, when the girl and the medic were only beginning to get going, a very drunk and yet very clear headed Merlin had left the physicians quarters to roam the halls of Camelot. Despite drinking close to his own weight in ale, Merlin's mind only veered on the edge of pleasant fuzziness, the sharp steel of fear bringing him back to lucidity every time he staggered blissfully close to oblivion.

Morgana knew. She _knew_. After all this time, all those close misses, it was when he finally escaped the clutches (quite literally) of the royal family that he was discovered, and all because he was too stupid to let a prat get mildly killed by a sorcerer. And yes, perhaps Morgana wasn't one to talk when it came to magic and forbidden activities, but that was hardly going to stop her, she wasn't always the wisest of women. And yes, maybe he had the whole 'I saw you try to kill the king' card to play against her to keep her quiet, but both of the dark haired magic users knew that Merlin was both a terrible liar and far too nice to ever end up actually revealing her.

It was enough to make him sick and he did in fact look feverish as he wandered the corridors, with a cold sweat soaking through his shirt and wetting his hair, and his eyes rolling like a mad horse. Merlin felt like crying, because even if Morgana kept quiet (and as much as he wanted to believe she was wholly his friend, it was still a big if knowing her unpredictable temper) there was no way he was ever going to get back the easy relationship and simple place he had gained with Morgana and within the castle. No doubt he would be consulted on every dream, sent for whenever Arthur ricked his finger on a spindle or something similarly idiotic and annoying, and when that happened suspicions were bound to start; Morgana was hardly what could be called subtle at the best of times, and people like Uther, despite being ridiculously bigoted, had an unfortunate knack for being perceptive.

He was going to die. He really was. He would be reeled out onto the very platform he'd stood by mere hours ago and – what? Have his head cut off? Or be burnt? Or some other, horrible type of death he hadn't even thought about yet, and Arthur would be watching and thanking his lucky stars, which he clearly had plenty of (probably thanks to stealing Merlin's), that he didn't bugger the servant after all, a thought which made Merlin rather angry for no good reason. Not that a very, very drunk wizard needs a good reason to have angry thoughts about his former employer and the son of his future murderer.

Eventually Merlin ended up where the night's horrific events had begun, just outside Morgana's chambers, sometime close to three in the morning. The fact that this was hardly an sensible time to visit a young unmarried woman's room (if indeed it was ever sensible to visit Morgana) only just registered in Merlin's half-panicked, half-sozzled mind and thus he was well into the room before it dawned on him she might be a) asleep, b) scared, c) royally pissed off or d) all of the above and emotional enough to reveal his secret to the next executioner that passed.

Fortunately for Merlin, Morgana was wide awake, having heard the warlock stumble against an inconveniently positioned suit of armour some way down the corridor. Unfortunately for Merlin, however, even in her best moments she had a cruel sense of humour. She sat up fast, gasping for breath, and pretended to look shocked as she turned to face the drunken young man.

"Merlin, oh, I just had the most frightening dream." This was not good news and Merlin crept closer to the bed anxiously, wondering if being on his knees would help his case at all. Morgana's smile was hidden in the dark, and the poor boy was too drunk to catch the hammy acting in her voice as she continued. "Oh, Merlin, it was terrible. There was an axe, and so much blood. Your pretty little head came clean off in one stroke." Merlin let out a strangled squeak like a de-tailed mouse and fell to his knees, mumbling faintly. Morgana ignored him. "Gwen and I were crying so much, even though you were a trai-"

Merlin made a noise that sounded like he was sobbing and Morgana cracked. Even she, with her ice cold rapier wit (and that was a mouthful to boast of), could not be cruel to Merlin for long. Picking up a pillow from behind her, she doffed him around the head with it lightly, laughing at him. Bleary eyed and bleary minded, Merlin took a few moments to stare up at her, confused, as his heart began to slow. Either Morgana was insane, (it was possible) or he had missed something somewhere. "Lady Morgana?"

"Oh, you drunkard. Merlin, stop fretting. I won't turn you in. I won't tell Uther. Your secret is safe with me, and when you're a little more sober we'll discuss it."

"But- You said- And Uther-" His expression was pained, and Morgana knew Gwen would berate her for her teasing in the morning. She hadn't expected him to be quite so panicked, and quite so drunk.

When she responded, her voice was softer, and she pulled the boy up to sit on the bed beside her, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair like a mother. For all that Arthur said about her, even Morgana had the maternal instinct where Merlin was concerned. "Merlin, I understand that magic isn't always something you can choose. I of all people, Merlin – I hardly choose my nightmares, and don't pretend you haven't guessed what they mean. We may all have been overlooking you for far too long, but that means you deserve our thanks, not punishment."

"I think I'm going to be ill," was not the most appropriate response, but then the situation was very unexpected and Merlin had imbibed an awful lot of alcohol. He just managed to stagger to the open window in time, and tried his hardest to ignore Morgana's laughter as he heaved. A shiver of cold passed along his back under his shirt but for the first time in days he felt relief. When he turned around he looked awful, pale, sweaty and gaunt but at least he was smiling, a little.

Morgana was still looking at him though, in that oddly intense way like a particularly large and scary cat, and Merlin gulped. There was a small smirk on her face and Merlin couldn't envisage what impossible magical things she was going to ask of him. Or rather, he could, and they were all vaguely terrifying scenarios, like having to make her dresses even more form fitting, or making magical imps steal Arthur's things (that one he could come on board with, right up until the point where his head got chopped off) or making her mirror tell her she was the prettiest woman in the land.

The reality was less horrific, but equally dangerous. "Merlin, can you... show me something? Magic."

He gulped and ever so slowly raised one hand.

* * *

On the other side of the castle Gwen was watching the new manservant assigned to Arthur hover nervously outside the Prince's door. In truth she was sympathetic to the poor bloke, who was skittish at best and should never have been assigned to the Prince, but it was hilarious to see the man jump from foot to foot like a small child locked out of the garderobe just when he needed it most. She was struggling to hide her laughter behind her hand, while the two guards could not stop their shoulder plates from rattling with mirth. Nevertheless, she was Guinevere, and she had a reputation to uphold as mother hen to all servants who came within her clutches.

Shooting Gareth a reproachful look as the guard let out a barely stifled guffaw (when the poor servant nearly dropped the tray and had to dive like a startled rabbit to catch it) Gwen approached and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I can take that in to the Prince, if you'd like," she offered kindly, but whatever the boy's response might have been, it was cut off by the sound of the door opening with a bang to reveal the source of all the anxiety, Prince Arthur himself. The serving boy gave a startled squeak and, quite naturally, turned tail and ran, since Arthur was looking at him as though a sword through his belly would make a nice improvement to his physique.

Except he wasn't, because on closer examination Gwen realised that look was being directed at her and she remembered the thunderous expression she'd seen on Arthur's face the previous evening. Undaunted she turned to him and held out the tray that had been unceremoniously dumped into her arms. "Your breakfast, Sire-"

"I don't need any damned breakfast, Guinevere," Arthur snapped back, and Gwen's eyes narrowed. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he didn't seem to have slept a wink, though Gwen wasn't quite generous enough to put it down to guilt over another death in Camelot. No, she suspected it had rather more to do with Merlin and the way a gesture between friends could look so very different to someone above them, in more ways than one. Arthur confirmed her thoughts in seconds, adding "Especially not from you. Shouldn't you be running along to him now? I hope you're very happy together, you deceiving... witch!" (The guards made to spring forward and seize her, until Arthur exclaimed "It was a figure of speech!") She might have been taken aback at being addressed with such severity from a man for whom she had such high hopes, but despite what Merlin had asked of her it was not in Gwen's nature to deceive, particularly where that might cause harm.

"Sire-" she began, but Arthur was already pushing past her to storm along the corridor away from her, looking slightly ridiculous in his night shirt (Gwen was grateful he was wearing one, though it hid little more than was decent.) "Arthur," she tried again, in a warning tone. Gareth and Gawain were still giggling, and Gwen finally lost her temper. She was surrounded by such a lot of silly little boys, none of whom could think sensibly for even one moment! The past few days and Arthur and Merlin both had stretched her patience more than she could bear, and though she couldn't take it out on Merlin, Arthur was fair game.

The clatter of the tray being thrown against the stone floor brought Arthur up short, and he turned cautiously as if he expected Gwen to be dressed in full armour and bearing down on him with a spear. She was, in fact, standing calmly outside his room, and he wouldn't have been able to tell she'd flung down his breakfast if it wasn't for her harsh breathing, and the bruised apple valiantly trying to make its way towards its master. "Guinevere..." he began cautiously, moving towards her like he would approach Morgana, or a particularly vicious kitten. Gwen didn't let him finish.

"My name is Gwen! Gwen, Gwen, Gwen! I am your friend, Arthur, however reluctant you are to accept that, but I can't do one thing for you if you don't trust me! Believe me, I have no wish to stand between you and-" Arthur was making desperate hushing faces, eyes wide as he pointed at the guards, but Gwen was unmoved –"Merlin, and I want you two to be friends again, if nothing else," she continued, causing Arthur to give up his gesturing and slump against the wall, "but if you continue to act like a spoilt child refusing to share his toys, I shall think better of my involvement! You'd do well to remember Merlin isn't the only person you have to prove yourself to and _will you two stop giggling like a pair of lunatics_?" she hissed, turning to the guards with a furious look on her face. Morgana had plainly rubbed off on her friend over the years, for the two men immediately sprang back into position and stood still as statues before her imperious look.

Arthur felt thoroughly sheepish and examined his bootless feet for a moment before slinking back towards his room. "My apologies, Gui- Gwen," he mumbled, not quite looking at her, and he was relieved when she accepted them gracefully before moving off to see to Morgana. Arthur closed the door behind him, leaving Gareth and Gawain to burst into a fit of silent giggles at the thought of the cowed prince. Their mirth didn't last long though, as Arthur's head emerged from the door again. "Well? One of you clear that up, and one of you go get me a new breakfast. I haven't got all day!"

There was nothing like a near escape from death to bring out the prattishness in Arthur, and now he was left alone with his thoughts again his mind turned back to the ideas and memories that had kept him awake. It had not just been the idea of Gwen and Merlin, though that was troubling thought enough, she being so sweet and he being so good it seemed a match made in heaven, except for the forlorn Prince it left outside it. Even now he was not sure of Gwen, not sure anyone could resist Merlin's charms. But there was more to his foul mood than that. Every execution in Camelot brought a new line to its Prince's face, every magical attack made the kingdom seem less secure, as if it could tumble down around him. Last night's had been different, felt more violent and more dangerous in a crowd of drunken revellers and with Morgana and Merlin there. Arthur had grown used to their absence, to quelling the questions and wonderings that brought up with an iron fist, so while to have them there should have been reassuring, should have banished doubts about her dreams and his inclinations (Arthur could not forget Will, the surge of jealously and anger that Merlin had befriended a sorcerer), Arthur only felt more unsettled than ever.

When his breakfast arrived, Gareth balancing it perilously as he placed his feet as carefully as a dancer, Arthur could only pick at it listlessly and it took very little thought to decide to go see Morgana instead. He dressed quickly and hoped Gwen hadn't told Morgana about his mood – he didn't need a dressing down from Camelot's most notorious royal.

Arthur had never learnt to knock but the shocked faces when he entered Morgana's room seemed a slight overreaction to his lack of manners. Then again, he was taken aback himself when his eyes met Merlin's wide round ones, and he hardly noticed the way a vase on Morgana's bedside table was rocking back and forth as if it had only just landed there, nor that her hairbrush had been falling so slowly one might almost call it floating until she plucked it from the air. Indeed, Arthur was very good at not noticing suspicious goings on, but never more so than when he was watching Merlin watch him. He was close enough to touch yet Arthur didn't dare to move, couldn't even pull his eyes away, even though the surprised soft look in Merlin's was quickly hardening into something harsh and ugly.

All was awkward silence until Morgana cleared her throat and asked, slightly breathlessly, "Arthur, what are you doing here? I'm not up yet." And indeed she wasn't, Arthur noted, still in her nightgown at this late hour. Still in her nightgown, in her bed, which Merlin was sitting upon, practically clasped in her arms. His Merlin. Arthur's eyes swung back to Merlin's again with a look akin to panic. He was relieved when he spotted the same in the other man's eyes, though relief gave way to utter disappointment when Merlin scrambled out of the room with a mumbled word of apology to Morgana. Too late Arthur called his name to try and halt him, try to apologise, but he was already out of earshot, or pretending to be, and Morgana gave him a pitying look. "Why are you here, Arthur?"

"I came to talk to you about the feast tonight. Why was Merlin here? More importantly, sitting on your bed? Think of the impropriety!" Arthur's voice was accusing, but Morgana didn't even deign to blush.

"Don't be ridiculous, Arthur, it doesn't suit you. Gwen's already told me about your stupid accusations to her this morning – been at the wine again, have you? – so you should have learned your lesson. Merlin is my friend, remember, and if you had a single thought in that daft head of yours, you might have realised that maintaining that friendship is probably the best way to get him to think of you positively again. As for impropriety, I'm not the one who attempted to maul him, so shall we ignore that burst of hypocrisy?" That Morgana could deliver such a speech in a sweet voice, merely raising one eyebrow to accentuate her displeasure, was a complexity of womanhood Arthur would never be able to understand. "Anyway, you were saying about the feast?"

"Er, um," Arthur fumbled for a few moments, still reeling from Morgana's verbal punches and the fact that Merlin had been in his presence not five minutes before. "The feast. Oh, yes. You're going with Percival, I believe? What gown are you wearing? Because Father said last night that in the light of recent events we should all dress to match as royals, to show Camelot is undivided. He was touched that you were there, at the execution, by the way," he added, ignoring Morgana's wince. "Anyway, this matching thing apparently means catering to your whims because women care about 'complexions' and colours. Speaking of which, were your curtains always blue?" he asked, distracted by the thought. He'd been sure that a few days before they'd been red, like his own.

For a moment Morgana seemed to falter, her eyes widening as she glanced from the curtains to Arthur to the door Merlin had just left through, but she composed herself quickly. "Don't be an idiot, Arthur, they've always been blue. This is precisely why Uther wants me to decide, you have no taste whatsoever. I shall be wearing the red gown with the burnished lacing – that's gold string to you -, so that should make it easy for you to match. I should send a not to Percival, I suppose, so that he doesn't clash," she mused and Arthur frowned at the slightly dippy look on her face.

"Morgana, I'm sure I don't have to remind you that as a junior knight, Percival should not be privy to your full attentions and- mphphdf!" Arthur suddenly found a faceful of pillow obstructing his brotherly words. Morgana, it seemed, was less than amused.

"Arthur Pendragon, don't you dare lecture me on what is and is not appropriate with junior knights, particularly not ones you bedded yourself not four nights ago!" she shrieked, making the Prince cringe as yet more soft fluffy projectiles flew towards him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Morgana, stop it! I apologise, do whatever you like with Percival, just don't tell me or Father about it... what are you smiling for?" he asked, arms still raised over his head protectively as he neared the bed. Morgana's enigmatic smile was always the most dangerous, and he feared for his safety as he watched it. As he did so, however, it softened, and a genuinely happy look appeared in her eyes.

"Oh, nothing. I just noticed that the curtains, the blue, matches your eyes. Exactly. That's all."

Arthur shook his head, marvelling at the woman's battiness, and left to attend to his father. He left Morgana with her soft smile as the cleverest royal in Camelot thought there just might be a chance for Arthur after all.

* * *

Merlin hated feasts, but then usually at feasts he was the one serving Arthur wine, or getting poisoned, neither of which were the best way to enjoy the revels. But this was the May Day feast, and it was for one and all, and past a certain hour of the evening it was generally accepted that the townsfolk and castle servants should be allowed to enjoy themselves as much as the gentry, particularly as they were celebrating Arthur's escape as well. Now that he was not Arthur's manservant he was free to enjoy them as the other servants did, loitering near the musicians, helping himself to the leftovers and utterly ignoring the head table and the occupant of it who was staring at him it seemed for every moment. It was a miracle that Arthur hadn't tipped wine on himself his eyes were so fixed on Merlin, not that Merlin would care if he did. The red jerkin the prince was sporting looked entirely too plush and handsome for Merlin's liking and after the destruction of his own neckerchief by wine it only seemed just that Arthur should suffer the same. Not that Merlin cared. Oh no.

Somewhere between his escape from Morgana's chambers and his meeting Gwen to dress in their finery (or what passed for finery) for the feast Merlin had decided that ignoring Arthur rather than confronting him at every turn would be the best course of action. Not only because confronting Arthur would no doubt get him into trouble with higher authorities very quickly, but also because he had heard the note of hurt in Arthur's voice when he had called him back and received no answer, and the vindictive angry part of him enjoyed it. His mind was in confusion after what he had done, saving Arthur when he was quite sure he hated him, and it was easier to let vengeance take over than to explore what that might mean.

But it was difficult to ignore the prince when he could feel the weight of his gaze at every moment. What did it mean? If Arthur was sorry he made no sign to show it, and Merlin was left feeling like a prize put out of reach, an object the other man wanted simply because he couldn't have it. It was hardly a pleasant feeling, so he was relieved when Gwen ran up to him, bursting with mirth and probably a drop too much mead.

"Merlin! You must dance, you can't keep stuffing yourself with pheasant all evening!" (Ah, so that was what it was, Merlin thought, mildly amused. There were so many different birds on offer Merlin had never learnt which was which and Arthur had often scolded him for bringing the wrong one to the table – but Merlin wasn't thinking about Arthur) "Come on, you must know this one," she cried again, tugging him towards the twirling ladies and knights who, now Merlin looked properly, were being joined by the common folk in a happy dance. With barely a word of protest he followed her into the noisy fast moving throng.

It was only on the second time Merlin whirled Gwen around giddily that he caught Arthur's gaze, graver now, and noticed the tighter grip the Prince had on his goblet. Despite all assertions to the contrary, Merlin was not daft, and he soon caught the drift of Arthur's thoughts. He pulled Gwen a little tighter and span faster, catching Arthur's gaze at each turn and smirking inwardly at the hurt and anger he saw there. It was addicting, a rush of cruelty he didn't know he had spurring him on at every glimpse. The music seemed to be getting louder and faster, everything more vibrant as he slowly took Arthur apart, showed him that he couldn't have everything, spinning Gwen round and around and closer to the open door until just before they would move out of the hall and out of sight, Merlin dipped Gwen and kissed her.

No kiss could have been less loving. Merlin loved Gwen, he truly did, as his closest friend and confidant, and he could have kissed her a dozen times for a hundred different things and put more love in it than then. No, as he felt Gwen gasp and turn her head away from his mouth, as he felt the music reach its pinnacle and yet somehow over the din hear a chair scrape back and fall at the high table, Merlin could only feel smug.

Then he was pulling Gwen out of the hall and into the silent corridor, the split second view of Arthur on his feet, face white, eyes wide, mouth open in shock and horror, making him grin from ear to ear.

Grin, that is, until Gwen slapped him. For a moment he gaped at her, his brow furrowing as he thought of how to reprimand her, before he saw the distressed look in her eyes that stopped his tongue. She too seemed to be struggling for words, her eyes searching his face for an explanation but finding none.

"Merlin! What were you thinking? You don't- you don't think of me like that! Now Arthur will think that we, that you and I are- together!" Her voice was more hurt than angry, confusion leaking into it and making her seem small and pathetic to her own ears, as she leaned against the wall, hands holding her face. Merlin's euphoria died away and he scrambled to explain.

"Let him think that! It's not true, Gwen, but I wanted Arthur to feel-" Merlin had thought his plan was perfect, but Gwen cut him off before he could explain it to her, and made his stomach drop through the floor with her words.

"What? Hurt? Betrayed? Because I certainly do!" The corridor was cold and quiet and away from the dizzy rush of the hall Merlin suddenly felt shame pricking at him under Gwen's gaze. "You used me, Merlin. And in that you are no better than him!" He flinched at that, and turned away, scared of the upset quaver in Gwen's voice, as though she were about to cry. He didn't want to be the one to do that.

"Gwen, I- I'm sorry, but he has to know! He has to learn he can't have everything he wants, that not everyone thinks he's brilliant and noble, that some people want other people, not him," he gabbled, desperate now to make it up to his friend, his best friend, as he stepped forward and tried to lay a hand on her shoulder. Gwen shied away and took a few steps back, holding out her arms to keep him at bay and yet still fixing him with a sad, sympathetic look that only she, in her infinite goodness, could supply when so offended.

"But you don't, Merlin. You don't like other people. You don't like me, at least, and there's never been anyone- So, so maybe you should think about why you want Arthur to hurt so badly. And maybe you should think about who your friends are, and how you treat them, and, and- Maybe you need to think about a lot of things, Merlin!" she exclaimed, before her backing away turned into a full out run, and the tears that had been threatening to fall did so. Merlin was left in the corridor, feeling wretched and alone.

* * *

Next time there should be some Morgana and Percival and Arthur at the feast, and their differing perspectives of Merlin's idiocy (ok, not so much Percival), Merlin tries to win back Gwen and gains some perspective, and perhaps Arthur will finally manage to say sorry to Merlin. Or at least start practicing in the mirror.

Hey, look, there's a shiny review button. Ok, yes, I probably don't deserve it, but I'd really like it. I wasn't quite sure about the balance of comedy and drama in this chapter, and it took me forever to write, so I could use some feedback to get back into the swing of things. And I'm ill, so you could send me lemsip! To the 225 of you who have this on alert (and wow, that's a lot) I am really sorry it took so long, and it was thinking of you lot that finally made me sit down and write it. Thank you.


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